


quiver still, these tears

by anonymouslystuupid



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Neglect, FrostIron - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Statutory Rape, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymouslystuupid/pseuds/anonymouslystuupid
Summary: WARNING: Heavy rape, torture, extended child abuse, angst. Read at one's own discretion. 
   Hands in his hair, scraping hurriedly in his scalp. Fingers clenching, pushing his head into the pillows, smothering desperate lungs. Grunts and moans behind him. The quiet of it all almost calming, the thrusts rhythmic. Loki felt his mind go numb, allowed his senses to muffle, to let his body fall into mutedness. He no longer twisted his bounded hands, no longer struggled. Perhaps he would have, once upon a time. Perhaps he would have allowed searing fury to blaze like lightning, ripping through the hoarseness of his throat, would have allowed vicious spat words colour the poison tips of his tongue.   Not anymore. A story intermingling the present and the past: of skin obnoxiously slapping skin in the dark, blunt pain rippling. Of unforgiving eyes and coarse hands against a child with glass-green eyes. Of two brothers sent to Midgard on a mission to broker a peace treaty, and the Avengers coming to find out a lot more about Loki than they had ever intended.





	1. Chapter 1

Pleasure; a budding flower that pressed razor on his tongue, slipping into moist. It hurt most when pleasure was there, encroaching in the shadows, sweeping dull pressures against skin, a pulsing thing bluntly pushing and burning, writhing. 

Hands in his hair, scraping hurriedly in his scalp. Fingers clenching, pushing his head into the pillows, smothering desperate lungs. Grunts and moans behind him. The quiet of it all almost calming, the thrusts rhythmic. Loki felt his mind go numb, allowed his senses to muffle, to let his body fall into mutedness. He no longer twisted his bounded hands, no longer struggled. Perhaps he would have, once upon a time. Perhaps he would have allowed searing fury to blaze like lightning, ripping through the hoarseness of his throat, would have allowed vicious spat words colour the poison tips of his tongue. Would have perhaps lunged against the man behind him, tearing out the other’s throat with his teeth. 

Not anymore. Fingers now moved down his back to grasp his hips tightly, pace becoming increasingly stuttered and uneven; shuddering trembles. Loki willed his physical body to remain relaxed, even against the man’s form behind him grew erratically tense, moans and groans and “loki…”s growing louder, more adamantly burning hot coals into his ears, sounds pressing like stubborn creatures, indelible. 

Then with a final shudder, the man peaked, releasing spurts like God littering sin into the moulded cavities of his body, fingers like a dead man’s grasp tightly securing. Loki found it made no difference leaving his eyes closed or open; the sensation felt the same either way. It was a verdict stamped onto his body, inking his soul black. An it, and not a he. 

The man retreated, then made his way to the other side of the bed, lying now, breathless. Loki shifted on the bed, gracefully propping himself up on his bounded arms. Carefully, he stretched out his legs on the bed, ignoring the grime crawling upon his skin, the seed still inside him. He blinked into the pillow he had been unceremoniously been pushed face first into just previously, and stared blankly. 

“So it is true,” the man said beside him, laughing breathlessly. Loki turned slightly to his right, not indicating he had heard anything at all. “That your father whores you out to anyone who would fuck you.” The man was settling down now, eyes wandering like curious lit things, hands reaching out to cradle Loki’s jaw. Loki tried his utmost not to instinctively flinch in response. 

The hand made contact, skin zapping and searing his own. Loki let his eyes fall close, only to allow the sensation to feel all the more real, all the more like scars scrapped into his skin. 

“You’re still trembling,” the man said, voice oddly gentle now, oddly soft. Loki did not know which he despised more: his own weakness or the man’s obvious pity. “Hey, hey, it’s alright now. Relax.”

The man’s hand guided his jaw closer, and Loki reluctantly complied, shifting his body so that the man could bring their faces close together; so close that their breaths mingled, intertwined. It could have been romantic, were he not a whore, and the man a stranger who had fucked him for mere entertainment. The man’s eyes were black and curious, even. A stranger from another world that Odin had ordered Loki to lie with, simply because he could. A malleable puppet body to use to garner political advantage. 

“You are so beautiful, Loki,” the man breathed, “eyes like dusts in the sky, clear as glass.” And if he knew this client would use him so and then spout romantic notions upon him, Loki would probably have given him a harder time. But alas, he was but a good dog waiting to kneel at Odin’s feet. Was it not odd that these people seemed to find pleasure in fucking an obedient puppet? It was all just a facade of darting tongues across lips and lowered lashes, of unveiling milk skin and large doe eyes. A robot painted with whites and blacks and the occasional smudge of sensuality. Classic seduction entailing a necessary expenditure to ensure political ground. All machinated by the Allfather. 

“You’re so quiet,” the man said, then, grasping Loki from his thoughts. The young princeling looked to the silk binding his wrists together in front of him, then to the man beside him. He seemed to understand the visual cue, hands reaching out to work on silk knots which had become blindingly tight, given how much Loki had strained at them. 

They both watched as the binds came loose, as the silk fell on the bed in between them. 

“Can I kiss you?” the man was saying, an odd lust rekindling that churned Loki’s gut. He would hate to endure another session of this. And how ironic that the man would ask for consent now, after the act. That it was obvious enough to any who would look that Loki had never consented to any decision made upon the usage of his own body. 

“You need not ask,” Loki said, voice hoarse from having work on the man’s part earlier, from having to— 

He blinked away from the reality of the situation, numbed himself further, pushing himself to the back of his mind. A familiar mutedness settled the bursting lights grazing the gaps of his brittle bones. Too close. 

A set of too eager lips descending upon his own, a numb feeling of contact, of Loki’s own lips mechanically responding, going through the motions like routine, expertly inducing groans from the other. 

He felt nothing. 

==================================================================================

Loki slinked into the background without a thought, allowing his senses to go on autopilot. He adorned dark colours —greens and browns and blacks—, wishing to blend and to disappear. They were going to step onto foreign ground here, with a mission to propose peace between two worlds. It was a heavy task, but one Thor only thought to be exciting and mind-numbingly fun. Loki felt his mind numb, indeed, though for a different set of reasons. 

The Gatekeeper’s all-seeing eyes set gravely upon Loki’s form, even as he shrunk intensely beneath them, even as degradation, shame and an odd curling fear rippled through the entirety of his frame. Was he not enough of a shadow? Perhaps one day he could master a way to spread the particles of his form too far apart, stretching at the seams of what a being could be, and departing peacefully from the many realms. That way even the Allfather could not retrieve him from the cradle of such an unknowable death, could he? Loki would finally be free from the chains that bound him to a dark and unforgiving world.

Thor was all smiles in front of him. All smiles and golden hair and golden prince and golden heart and golden empire. Tall and dazzlingly bright, enough to blind Loki’s own inky gaze. White and black, light and shadow. 

A hand reached out to grasp his forearm firmly, and Loki flinched hard in response, caught off guard. Thor frowned, sky-blue gaze encompassing limitless boyishness and innocence drowning Loki’s own slithering panic, Loki’s own dirt-covered skin. 

“You’re particularly sullen today, brother,” Thor said, recovering, face already bright with another smile. Loki did his best to ignore the Gatekeeper’s knowing —too knowing— gaze upon catching Loki’s skittish response. He was better than this. He was. 

“I apologise,” he said, allowing what regality and elegance he could muster infuse naturally into his stance, “let us embark. Unfortunately for us, time’s short.”

“No need to be so serious,” Thor said, dropping his hand from where it had made contact —Loki ignored the urge to feel relieved— “We are going to Midgard, brother! Midgard! A whole new world to explore, to raise our fists against and slam down upon those who dare tread against us.”

Loki’s brows pressed together worriedly. “There will be no fighting, Thor. The Allfather—”

“Allfather this, Allfather that. Loki, father, our father,” Thor said, and Loki imagined he had managed to suppress the urge not to shift uncomfortably, “is hoping for us to relax and enjoy ourselves. To explore what these nine worlds can give! You do not have to be so dour.”

“I suppose,” Loki said, and Thor whooped into the air. The golden prince then turned to Heimdall, who had been passively observant, clapping one golden-armoured shoulder. “We are ready, my friend. Time for my brother and I to catch new sights of new worlds together.” 

The Gatekeeper nodded, glancing furtively to Loki’s own wavering gaze one last time, before light enveloped the room and their bodies, snapping their bodily particles apart across space and time.

A last thought before Loki landed on his feet: _Heimdall knows._

==================================================================================

Loki had begged and cried at first. He had been younger then, smaller, thinner, weaker. He had not realised then how futile it would be, how useless resisting was. Because, he would have to endure either way. Endure, grit his teeth through it, scream himself hoarse through, but still finish it. 

He could only obtain love that way. 

His panicky demeanour as he rushed into Father’s palatial rooms. Younger hands and younger feet and younger heart. Panic searing through the spaces of air in his lungs, his skin burning through a blue frost unknown, seeping into the pores of his skin, tainting. Blue, blue, blue; a dark icy glacier landscape, of cruel lands and crueler monsters, of beasts with canines ripping, of claws blistering. His Father an angular visage, a stern and pinched disgust plastered onto his features, of rough hands and moving mouths suddenly ordering him of his place, of his actual function, of why he was birthed on a fiery plane now sputtering flickering blinks of light, setting his world ablaze. 

Shouts and tears toppling his world, of guards grabbing him, throwing him into a dark, cramped place. He had been too young to understand the intricacies of Odin’s political position, but he had been quick-minded enough to know what the colour of his own blood meant to the entire species he had grown up with.

At that point, it was all simply too rough, too much of a shock. Days later, when Odin sat him down and gritted through teeth about what Loki had been borne to do, Loki had been reduced to a terrified and confused mess. 

“A loyal tool of the kingdom”, The Allfather had said. Loki now knew better. 

The Allfather taught him the magical arts, taught Loki how to become a lethal weapon for the kingdom. Taught him how to hide his true skin. How to kill. 

As he grew, though, it apparently became clear to the Allfather the other functions Loki could be used to fulfil. At the time he thought himself an awkward, weak and gangly creature, with arms too thin, form too small and stamina too frail. He had not realised the other kind of eyes splattered upon him, that what those eyes saw was of a creature whose lashes were too long, skin too fair and eyes too dark. 

==================================================================================

They stepped on sand, gritty small bits pouring and shaking as they applied on them the pressures of their feet. Loki glanced up to look around. Open skies. 

“There are no beings dwelling in these parts, it seems,” Loki said, a trained part of him quickly scanning their surrounding, resisting the urge to cast spells to ensure no life form could sneak up upon them. “Though, it would be too soon to be sure.”

Thor looked to Loki, smiled winningly. “Fret not, Loki. We will stumble across the Midgardians soon enough. From what I know, they are bountiful creatures who expand their lands in many forms. There exist few spaces where they do not reside.”

Loki nodded, casting his gaze to the horizon. A setting sun—

“What is that?” Alarm in Loki’s voice as he gazed upon lights moving in the sky. Midgard’s machines in the skies, blades swinging quickly in the air, lifting people within it. A blaze in the sky in the shape of a man, shuttling towards them. Thor’s hand moved to Mjölnir, slipping over the form of it. 

“Father told me about this, before we left,” Thor said, voice low. “Midgard’s own defence, piled up in numbers and old machinery. What we have to watch out for is their special unit made up of odd beasts and trained warriors.”

Loki nodded, latching onto the many beings now approaching them. A man of metal in the sky, now slowly landing, men and women in odd-looking garments, faces stern. A single man approaching them, a shield traced star-emblem in hand. 

“Greetings aliens,” the hunk of humanoid metal spoke, the voice garbled. Then in softer though perceivable tones, “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Loki raised a brow, immediately raising a hand to cast a spell, translating the languages between Asgardian and Midgardian speak. Beside him, Thor’s reflecting furrowed brow relaxed as the words became comprehensible. 

“Goddamn it Tony, what did he do? What was that?” A Midgardian at the front, with metalloid weaponry raised at the both of them, said agitatedly, the black patch over a single eye twitching. Behind him, ominous looking hunks of metal, those that had been flying in the sky, poured out Midgardians from every pore, every opening, all carrying lethal-looking hunks of metal. Loki scrunched his nose in distaste. Had they been here some time ago, these beings would have been celebrating their presence, not pointing questionable things at their faces. Sometimes stupid was easier. 

“Oh, I don’t _know_ , Fury,” the humanoid metal responded, tone flat and robotic, “Maybe it’s their language for ‘I come in peace, earthlings’?” 

Thor laughed; a deep rumbling, eye-catching thing that brought everyone to silence. He grinned, shaking his head, and Loki inhaled slowly and patiently beside his brother, attempting not to catch unneeded attention. 

“The metal is a funny man,” Thor commented to Loki in between good-naturedly chuckles, and Loki barely managed to ignore the urge to sigh really loudly and visibly merely to demonstrate that not all aliens were quite as brainless as Thor. Instead, he took a slow step forward and clasped his hands in front of him. 

“I am Loki, and this is Thor,” Loki spread a hand out to his bumbling mess of a companion as means of introduction, “the crown princeling of Asgard. We possess no lethal weaponry, and no intent to harm. Our purpose here is to discuss peace treaties between our worlds. As we all know, Midgard has been increasingly sentient about the other worlds around her. It is about time Asgard intervened before miscommunication induces any kind of destruction to any world. We are all now a civilised people.”

Silence and gaping mouths and wide eyes. Hel, had Thor lowered so much of the Midgardians’ expectations of _intellectual_ extraterrestrial life forms? Loki turned back to glare slightly at his brother, who was nodding excitedly back with a puppy-like approval. 

By Valhalla, it was going to be a long journey. 

==================================================================================

Loki disapproved having the Midgardians lock them in different rooms, but he remained silent against those decisions. There may be a day where he could no longer assist Thor, and the young prince needed to learn how to fend for himself in diplomatic situations. It was the perfect place to practice this, considering these Midgardians possessed no method in which they could use to hurt Thor. Mjölnir the Midgardians had left by Thor’s side, for no one could physically lift it nor would Thor even allow it to be left elsewhere. It was not a choice given to the Midgardians.

Loki himself, on the other hand. The Midgardians did not need to know he wielded powers beyond the physical, and that was that. He was perfectly capable of protecting himself. 

Though, it was rather unpleasant sitting on a metal chair, a singular wrist bounded by cuffs to the metal table. The cuffs—

_Flashes of hands and breaths and skin against his own, of his own gasps and hoarse pleas, arm pulling madly, twisting along with the accompanying clanging of his chains, of the cool metal biting into his skin, cutting into tendon and blood, muddying silver a scarlet his captors could appreciate. Loki breathed painfully against the sting of it, trying to calm his panic—_

“Loki?”

He flinched into the sound of his own name, breaths coming slightly faster. Lights. Thor. Midgard. Peace treaty. Yes. Alright. It was not dark here. He was alright. 

“Dude, are you okay?” 

Loki glanced up through his lashes, wondering what expression he had made that inspired a question of his general well-being. He gritted his teeth, leaned away from the wrist cuffed to the table. He had never taken well to being bounded. 

“I am fine,” Loki choked out as smoothly as he could. He was on Midgard, for Hel’s sake. No one could place a single finger on him here. Even the Allfather himself was galaxies away. 

“You’re bleeding,” the metal man was saying now, head nodding to that single wrist strained hard against the cuff, just noise pouring out of that metal chunk —rattle rattle rattle, of Loki screaming and blinking tears into the tendons that strained against his own wrists, his collared neck, his bounded ankles— so much noise burning, and Loki could not control his breaths, why was this happening now now now—

“Woah, woah okaaaay hey! I didn’t touch you okay, big fella!” The metal hunk now standing, hands raised. “ _Why_ are you hyperventilating?” 

Loki pressed his free hands to his forehead, covering his face despite the fact he could not breathe. No no no no! He was on another world, he was on a _mission_. Displaying weakness in front of the enemy was… 

But, his missions had never been of this nature, had they? They had always been in-out work. Either sex or assassination, both understandable, both familiar. Sex he could just shut down and out, just relax and take it. Assassination he could simply slip into a different sort of numbness; drown in calculations and planning and clear cut goals. Slit that throat, extract this information, remove that body. Torture this man, exterminate that woman, hurt that child. 

Loki slipped into that now, mustering himself with a granite fist. Of course his guard had slipped; on those missions, he had always been alone. It was easy to become another nonbeing, another faceless person. But with Thor… he… he liked to think he was…

“I am fine,” Loki said, blinking, as the metal man hovered, shifted about. “Sit, Midgardian.” 

The metal hunk slowly sat, as if afraid to rattle his nerves. Loki clenched his fist. No one’s nerves were going to be rattled anymore, from this point forth. 

They both sat in a simmering, unspeakable silence. Until the metal chunk finally spoke. 

“You’re the crazy one, huh.” 

Loki exhaled slowly, betraying no emotion. 

“Your comrade’s all loopy and giddy telling us about your world, about Asgard and its wonders and how you two were here as Gods to sightsee, you know that?”

Loki allowed the huff that escaped his lips. Well. He was not expecting any different from Thor, at least not yet. 

“He’s not quite as upset as you about the cuffs,” a quiet robotic murmur. Loki glanced up, then down at his own wrist, skin slightly bloody against the sharper cuts of the cuff. Of course, he could easily rip the metal holding him apart, but simply from straining against it he had broke skin. Not that he had noticed. 

And about ripping the metal apart, it was intergalactic etiquette to allow Midgardians’ their illusions of safety, yes? He would love to be removed from the binds, for even as he knew he was strong enough to render the cuff useless, the very notion of it repelled him. It took him great willpower to simply ignore the singular wrist which was bound, and look into unseeing metal lights. 

“He is a dolt,” Loki simply said, to which the metal hunk was nodding to in agreement. 

“We’ve established that. But you… Loki,” the metalloid voice drawled, toneless, “You seem to be the dangerous one of the lot.”

Loki shrugged. It was true. 

“From what your brother has told us, you’re the younger prince of Asgard, am I right? A wise, kind soul who can be trusted in battle to guard his back. An advisor of sorts?” Metal Man leaned forward. 

“What has Thor _not_ told you about me that you need me to supplement with? Has he not already spewed our entire life histories, our kingdom’s political secrets, the points on an Asgardian’s body where one may pierce into to render our immortality useless?” Loki said, shifting his body backwards now, leaning away from the table and that one incessantly infuriating cuff. He would fold his arms, if not for the offending piece of binding. 

“What, wait, hold up. Where are those points, exactly?” 

“They do not exist, Metalloid Midgardian,” Loki huffed. 

“Oh my, humour. Name’s Tony, you sassy little thing you. Tony Stark.” The metalloid man reached a hand to the side of his face, initiating some sort of mechanism, and the metal’s face plate lifted, unveiling a Midgardian face. For a moment, interest took the place of Loki’s hundred percent reluctance at being on Midgard with his daft brother. 

“Fascinating,” Loki murmured, to which the man, Tony, started grinning at. 

“If you’re already floored by that, pooch, you’d be fainting at the sight of the tech I have in my lab.” 

==================================================================================

Nothing was known of his very first task because all that had been done was to throw Loki into a prison cell with several men who had fucked him until he had passed out.

Hel. Loki was sure he had been thrust into the depths of Hel herself. Of their rough hands, of their towering height against Loki’s own smaller form, of his own hoarse shouts and kicking feet, realising with an deadening churn of his gut why the Allfather had placed the collar upon him to render his magic useless, why he had been placed in the cell with madmen. 

Loki looked to the outside of the clear glass cage, to guards stoic and emotionless, standing there to keep watch as hands locked upon his wrists and his ankles, pressing down all around him with the advantage of weight. There were four of them, against one of him. Loki’s heart burnt, pounding madly with how terrified he was; a small organ bursting in his chest. He shouted and blinked away the onslaught of panicked tears, fighting against the holds on his limbs. 

They were speaking between them a language Loki’s own tongue did not utter, sharing laughter. Loki sobbed into the blur of his tears, a fear overriding logical thought. His resistance whittling away into dawning realisation that the whole thing was happening. That perhaps the Allfather had sent him to die. 

Perhaps it would have been better, if he had died that day. If all they did was kick him around and then smoothly slid a knife right through the softness of his heart, allowing the lifeblood inside to fracture and leak out, leaving a dead corpse behind. If they had just physically tortured him, punching and slamming and kicking, instead of touching him in that way. In a way that would break his soul. 

Hands manipulating him to lean on all fours: his hands and knees; like the animal, the lowly beast that he was. He was so scared; he trembled all over, limbs uncoordinated and shaky, mind disbelieving. A low whistle in the background, a painful smack on his behind, and rough laughter all around. He could hear someone’s pathetic voice pleading and whispering desperately, breaking, “please… please…” and “I’m s-sorry, so sorry, please…”, and only after a while did he realise it was his own weak sound. 

Like an animal grunting and squealing before being sent to slaughter. Oh how pathetic he was. 

Hands lifting his head up to meet many pairs of alien eyes, all alit with the same heady lust. One quickly wrenched his mouth open, keeping it hanging. It all happened too quickly for Loki to respond as the first man mounted his mouth in a single forceful thrust. 

He coughed and gagged into it, but hands was grabbing behind his head, into the locks of his coal hair to manoeuvre his head. Loki would have bitten clean down if not for the two fingers still in his mouth with the foul organ along with it, keeping it open. 

He could not breathe, and the man started moving slowly, gaining a rhythm. Loki keened painfully, his voice desperate and high, but all the man did was moan at the response, at the vibrations from Loki’s own bludgeoned throat. 

Behind him, Loki barely registered spitting sounds, and of fingers entering him roughly. He longed to pull away, but hands kept him steady, forcefully coercing him to take it. 

Tears. He blinked them away rapidly, and he prayed to the Gods he would pass quietly into the darkness, into the peaceful realms of death. Dying with a man’s cock shoved down his throat. 

But he would not die from lack of air. The men knew that, and had Loki been more lucid, he would too. 

When the man finally came, Loki’s throat still convulsing around his organ from gagging incessantly, Loki felt relief, and then shame. There were too many things happening to his body to understand: behind him he felt intensely a forceful and blunt pressure trying to pervade his body. 

It seemed like his body would not give, though, even as the man tried to push. More fingers invading him, impatient and rough. Loki gasped and groaned rapidly, vision too blindingly bright and dark at the same time, the lack of air from before scattering across his gaze stars mockingly emulating an open sky. 

There were no open skies here, though. Only bodies and pain and blood. 

Hands spreading his cheeks apart, then the blunt pressure winning, the force of it rattling Loki from within, spearing him apart from the inside. He screamed and screamed, hands and knees attempting to crawl away, tears pouring still like glaciers from his eyes, but the men merely spouted gruff incomprehensible words at him and effortlessly held him down. The thing inside him was a monster, hot and painful and impossibly splitting up his insides, ripping out what flesh it found. He could feel it; blood hot and liquid dripping down his legs, even as the man was relentless moving —impossible, he was already in so much pain, how could there be _more_?— even as the man began groaning, and Loki just tried to focus on breathing, on getting air to enter his system and then go back out and enter again, so it would not shut down from the mind-guttering blank all-encompassing agony of it all, searing through his senses, his own body screaming and screaming at him to remove the sensory overload of torment.

He was crying and begging and screaming but all he heard was the soundlessness of his pain, battering into his body like a lesson he could never learn no matter how hard it was taught. But there was no proper lesson to learn, only that Loki was a soiled monster and an ugly, ugly creature whose function was _this_ , right here, to lie down and _take_ it, to let these men use him however they wished. 

It hurt. The physical pain blinded and knocked breath out of him, but the betrayal —had it been a betrayal though? For what was he but a beast who deserved what he was getting?— burned even more. That of course he had been bred for these things, to be used in this way. He was a _monster_. 

But at least, he had thought he was the Allfather’s monster. Apparently not. He was in fact a free-for-all, a subject with a multitude of uses, and oh how so very advantageous he was: assassin and mindless whore all wrapped up into one. 

That first night he screamed and cried and fought and kicked. Three days after, still lying in that same cell with the same men who raped him day after day, Loki thought perhaps the Allfather had changed his mind, had left Loki here to die. That, hey, what was the worst death to give a frost giant? It was a mercy, even, compared to eternal suffering. At least he would _die_ one day… wouldn't he? 

So, when months after he set foot into the cell, guards poured in to let him out, Loki almost did not want to leave. What did leaving mean? It had felt like he had been in there for _years_. He had come to understand what his captors needed from him, and in return, his captors shared a little water with him, and did not hurt him unnecessarily. What better existence could he crave for? Here, he understood his place, he understood his function. He was safe. Outside, the Allfather was an unknowing and unknowable entity Loki would never be able to please. Why, oh why, would he want to leave this safe place?

He was _perfect here_. Needed, here. He fulfilled a gap in this place. Outside? He was just a monster. 

The guards’ hands roughly descending upon him, and Loki surprised himself by resisting, by stumbling back into the forms of the captors. The cellmates who were now shouting at the guards, obviously displeased at their thing being taken away. His rapist’s arms wrapping around him, guarding property, and Loki had never felt _safer_. 

But the guards stunned the prisoners, and with emotionless manoeuvring, guided Loki out of the cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This niblet of a story is a little pet project of mine that I do whenever I am in a casual mood, so unlike my other works, the language in this will be far less sophisticated, and the expected quality set by myself (for myself) of each chapter will be lower, though elements of my usual writing style will remain :) The basic format of the story will likely be such: switching two constantly alternating counterparts, one set in Loki's past, and another in the present. It will also be rather simple to differentiate which is which :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! This story will be updated rather frequently as I already have about 25,000 raw words written out :) 
> 
> Also, please please please be very safe while reading this story. Trigger warnings have been put in place for very good reasons. If at any point of time you feel uncomfortable, unwell or unsafe, I need you to please please step away from this story, grab a cup of hot water or tea, and distract yourself with a happy video or a calming walk outside. It can be very dangerous to read triggering content if one is not in a safe space. 
> 
> *gives every hot cocoas and warm blankets to all who need them*
> 
> P.S. Comments are absolute loves! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Out of all the cell mates who had touched him —A, B, C, D respectively— B was the nicest. He was always making sure Loki did not bleed, stretched him out properly with gentler fingers, even as Loki trembled and shivered and bit his lips against the touches. B was also the one who gave him water after, who sometimes even looked into his eyes and cradled Loki’s head against his shoulder, indicating he rest or sleep. 

Sometimes he wondered what B saw in him. Why he was so nice. What he had done to be put into the cell with the others. They spoke in guttural tones Loki could not comprehend, even as he tried. He caught familiar sounds here and there. A low one that meant he stay still, another that meant they were getting increasingly angry, that Loki should always obey. 

It was the little things. When they were not using him, B was the one who tried to communicate. Who allowed Loki to actually speak. He would raise oddly coloured fingers —alien fingers— and make sounds as the numbers increased, as if teaching Loki the numbers of the other’s language. It was almost sweet, really, even though the noises of B’s language truly sounded the same to Loki no matter how hard he tried to discern between the various syllables. 

B was also the one who knew a little bit of Asgardian. 

“Yo…ung..” B had said, as he sat across from Loki, as he nudged a cup of water into his hands. 

Loki blinked. “Me?” He murmured meekly, pointing to himself in question, and B nodded back.

“Yes. Young, I guess,” Loki replied, shrugging then nodding. 

“Wh…y…” B said, and glanced around them, indicating the area. Why was he here in the cell? Loki bit back the urge to say that he had always wanted to ask the same question. But it was an apt question, wasn’t it? The truth stung as Loki opened pale lips to reply. 

“Monster,” Loki said, so softly that B leaned forward to catch the word. Loki pointed at himself. “Monster.”

B frowned, not comprehending, and that was that. 

===============================

“You two distinguished guests will be staying with us for the time being,” Tony said. He reached forwards to the other Avengers lazing around on the couch, unbothered with introductions. Public relations was almost always his job. Especially with intergalactic potentially-deadly-and-ready-to-annihilate-Earth guests. Tony Stark, to the rescue. Public social relations manager, and all that jazz. 

They were all standing in the living room now. The government would not stand angering the demigods by imprisoning them with not quite strong enough holds, and so had delegated the Avengers to secretly but not so secretly keep a close eye on them. Also, Tony was sure Natasha would be covertly rounding the two up very soon to draw out distinct weaknesses. Government spy through and through. 

“This is Steve, he’s a goody-goody who is half the time as confused as you about Midgardian tech, so do feel free to share feelings; he’s a hundred percent relatable human,” Tony rambled smoothly, and Steve on the couch rolled his eyes, proceeding to stand up and shake the Asgardians’ hands: Thor’s firmly, and faltering as Loki eyed the soldier’s palm with a distinct distaste that tickled Tony’s amusement. 

“What was… that,” Loki said, eyeing Steve’s palm. Thor grabbed Loki by the shoulder with one arm. Tony watched as Loki became increasingly tense and uncomfortable. 

“It is a ‘handshake’, brother. A literal gesture where they hold each other’s hands, and shake it upwards and downwards. A form of friendly Midgardian greeting,” Thor explained, eyes bright and lit with the wonders of this ‘handshake’. Tony watched as Loki’s frown deepened in incomprehension, as his tongue subconsciously darted out to wet those lips. 

Loki raised a hesitant hand, palm facing upwards. Steve rushed in to de-awkward-fy, bless the man, a firm grip wrapping around Loki’s unsure one, and shaking up and down. 

“Just like that,” Steve said, and afterwards Loki pulled back his hand immediately, face paling slightly. From the revulsion of Midgardian touch or Midgardian gesture Tony did not know. Thor merely laughed good-naturedly, clapping his brother’s back. 

“That is Natasha, she will steal your popcorn and lie about it until someone realises it’s her,” Tony continued, eyes squinting at the lethal woman, who seemed glad Tony gave nothing of her covert spy background away to the Asgardians. Tony would have sabotaged her position just to see her squirm, but he had just bought more Garrett’s popcorn and that shit was the bomb. His bomb. Not Natasha’s. And hopefully it would remain that way until it was all in his stomach, since he had done her a big favour, at least in his books. A plus would be having her no longer snooping around in his workshop, but he had Jarvis on duty for that, so no problems whatsoever. 

Another handshake from Thor, but when it came to Loki, he merely bowed slightly in a gentlemanly fashion, dark hair falling across his face that made Tony feel things he really shouldn’t feel for alien princelings. God damn. 

“Um, that kind-face is Bruce. He’s a smartass who’s actually smart.” Tony said, slipping back into introductions. Tony was not so stupid to give away their various ‘abilities’, if you will. No advantages for their alien friends. No information to be given on the part of the Avengers. It would be preferable for the demigods to underestimate them. 

Bruce stood up quickly, motions like the true blue geek he was, that genuinely kind smile on that face. “It’s a pleasure to meet the two of you. I have heard many things,” he was saying, and Tony could already see on the tip of that tongue a million scientific questions ready to spew. 

“Greetings, Bruce,” Thor responded in kind, eyes alit and smile glaringly brilliant. Loki bowed slightly. 

“Then the last is that shit face Clint. You can just ignore that ass.” Tony said, already turning to the kitchen for grub, even as Clint raised arm, spouting an aloof “sup” and Thor and Loki frowned in equal brotherly measures that almost had Tony cracking up. 

“So, what do we do now, men of Midgard? What sights and places have you to show us?” Thor said, standing in the middle of the living room, his form tall and powerfully built, sinew and muscles rippling in his odd Asgardian garments. 

The room went silent for a moment. Well, technically the guests weren’t allowed to leave so…

“You two wanna watch TV?” Clint piped up, drawling the words together lazily, a single brow raised. 

Thor clapped his hands together, delighted. 

“It would be my pleasure, Clint. Show us this… ‘TV’.”

=====================================

Sometimes, as a young boy, Loki thought his father loved him. Even as a creature of frost-stained blood. After his months in the cell, after he had thought the Allfather had abandoned him to death, he had been eventually retrieved, hadn’t he? Yes, his mind had been all fuzzy and desperate and unthinking, when he had been pulled out. And he had grown afraid of the Allfather who had dumped him there so. But, did that not mean the Allfather had eventually rescued him? Had removed him from his suffering? 

So it meant the Allfather still, at least, to some extent, cared for him, yes? 

The Allfather, who had one night summoned Loki from his dark, cold cells to the Allfather’s own dwellings, who had, drunk on mead and bloodlust, victories of war singing in pumping veins, grasped Loki and pulled him to the bed. 

Who had kissed him so, touched gently his neck, even as Loki was trembling — _why_ was he so scared?— even as the Allfather’s hands, familiar, familiar hands, sinked into the coarseness of Loki’s midnight hair and cradled. 

The Allfather kissed his lips, his nape, his chest. Whispered reassuring words to him: “You’re so beautiful… so pure…” Had actually _praised_ him.

The Allfather encouraging Loki to embrace, and Loki did; small child arms wrapping tightly around his father, not wanting to let go, to never go back to the cell with the four men who spoke in their odd guttural tongues, who were most often rough and foreign and uncomprehending. 

Loneliness. A wild black thing that grappled constantly with Loki’s own soul, not even soothed over by B’s pieces of sometimes-kindness. 

But he was safe now, wasn’t he? The Allfather allowing Loki to truly embrace him, arms around broad shoulders, Loki’s own chin tugged in the nook of Odin’s own neck. It was okay. It was fine, now, even as the Allfather’s own fingers touched that soiled place, entered him in one solid thrust, the pain a familiar crunch flaring from his back up his spine. Because constantly still, constantly _still_ the Allfather was whispering in his ear how perfect Loki was, how beautiful he was, how pure he was, a-and—

Loki had never felt more loved. 

He blinked the tears coating his lashes away. It was _just_ pain. It would go away with time. So what if he felt dirty, felt like a whore? Yet here he was, being useful to the Allfather, and Odin _loved_ him. 

Odin’s movements were becoming more erratic now, mead-mixed breath gasping against Loki’s mouth. Kissing him again. The Allfather pushed him now roughly onto the sheets, climbing on top, grabbing his hips, knocking his legs apart. Loki helped, blinked all the tears away, ignored the stench of blood in the air, the hotness dripping down his legs from the lack of preparation, the turbulence of it all, the pain pounding against him like a sledgehammer, through and through. 

He was loved, he was loved. 

So it was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
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>  
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> *pours hot tea for everyone, throws blankets at incoming readers*
> 
> Well, I'm still trying to adjust/configure optimal chapter lengths, and I'm leaning towards chopping them up, considering the narrative is intended to be structured as an alternating past/present cut-style type. Some texts simply don't go well together, so forgive me if chapter lengths do not remain consistent (this is intended!) :) We will get long and short chapters along the way, whichever works best for the particular chapter :) [This is a lot more of an intermediate, unfortunately, so it is shorter! Fret not, the next one due will be longer, with more content and interactions :)]
> 
> *pats Loki* Please heed trigger warnings, guys, the road ahead _will_ get choppier, I'm afraid. 
> 
> P.S. Comments are <3 :) *bribes with hot cocoa* *evil author laugh* *looks at next chapter due Sat/Sun and squints*


	3. Chapter 3

They watched TV together. Their first day with extraterrestrial guests, and they were reduced to watching the television like an aged old married couple done with forty years of mutual enslavement, coerced to endure the chains of a rushed previously-not-so-thoroughly thought through marriage. 

“And what is this… ‘channel’?” Thor said, voice wondrous, hands tightly grasping the remote like one would a steering wheel just before crashing. What? Similes weren’t Tony’s forte. And he wasn’t going to pretend he was born to babysit aliens with his plasma television. 

“Animal planet,” Steve said, “it shows you animals in the wild, in their natural habitats. We observe them and study their behaviours and learn about their anatomies.”

“They are… so oddly shaped,” Thor said, leaning so close to the television he was almost blocking half the view off. He reached a hand out to touch the screen, pointing at a giraffe. “And how many men do you need to take down this odd creature?”

Clint laughed in the background, getting up to grab a can of beer. Natasha had left half an hour ago, obviously concluding that this was a waste of her time. Bruce had done the same, only after swabbing some saliva from Thor. He had practically ran back to his lab, and Tony would have gone after him, if only Loki was not seated at the corner of the couch, on the edge of the seat, emanating vibes of ‘fight or flight’.

He was so tense that he was almost uncannily still. And weirder still, Steve and Clint had seemed to begun leaving Loki to their peripherals. As if the demigod had successfully blended into the surroundings, as if golden boisterous thunder child Thor had provided the light to Loki’s shaded darks. Had Tony not personally possessed an invested interest in the god, he would have likely ignored Loki for the more attention-grabbing brother. Alas, Tony’s libido had once again chosen correctly. Loki was indeed the more interesting of the lot. 

As if to shatter his faded figure, Tony stood up and deliberately shifted, plopping himself down right beside Loki, cornering him into the side of the couch. It was odd how only when Steve and Clint caught the motion that they seemed to register Loki’s presence once again, eyes squinting with an odd what-the-fuck moment. 

It was odder still that Loki seemed to suddenly tense even further, sitting ramrod straight, eyes stubbornly latching onto Thor’s form, as if reassuring himself his brother was there. 

Ah, so perhaps they were all babysitting Thor together, no?

“Hey chillax, babe,” Tony said, sliding easily into a flirtatious mood. “You want a drink?”

Loki seemed to have registered the noise, discomfort emanating like waves now. Even Steve was shooting Tony oh-my-god-Tony-stop looks, which meant Steve was being a grandparent yet again. Tony thoroughly ignored aforementioned granddad. 

“Not… particularly,” Loki said, voice slightly strangled. Well. That wasn’t usually the response one would give to flirty-Tony, but hey he could deal. 

“Don’t worry, no one’s going to harm you both here, as long as you two don’t pull any moves. You can… well. It just seems you’re a little too tense, buddy,” Tony said, voice lowered now, the others seeming to sense it was a private moment between the two and moved on to entertaining Thor with the TV again. 

“Thank you for the assurance, Tony,” Loki smoothed out, and Tony cocked his head to the side, interest and confusion both blooming at once. So, dear demigod brother no. 2 was the polite socialite type too? The facade Loki seemed to have slipped in —so naturally too, what a shocker— was a cool, polite and amiable type, the perfect kind to intercept social or political intercourse. A wild contrast to his mind-to-mouth blabber of a brother, who said immediately what he felt, and meant what he said earnestly. 

“I am fine, and you are a most gracious host,” Loki said, a smooth smile forming, eyes blank as soot. Well, would you look at that? Even his shoulders were beginning to relax subconsciously to fit his socialite persona. “I do believe I am quite tired from our travels, which is why I seem to be so aloof and unfortunately, unapproachable. I apologise for my rude demeanour.”

“Oh no,” Tony slipped in smoothly, eyes bright, mind already whirring. Wow. What a dead-drop stunner, Loki was. How many layers were there to him? To this beautiful, fey night creature? “No need for formalities, Loki. Here in this place it’s all cool and dandy. You can rest whenever you need. Just call any of us if you need any help, yeah? It’s our pleasure to have you visit Earth, or as you so often call it, Midgard.”

“Ah, sorry,” Loki looked down, and in that instance he truly looked _abashed_ at his own mistake, the socialite persona slipping slightly, “Earthian terms do not yet come naturally to me. Earth is a beautiful name, indeed. And from what I have observed from this… television you have, Earth is also a very beautiful place.”

Tony blinked back against the earnestness of Loki’s tone. He suddenly looked like he genuinely meant those particular words. The way he seemed to wistfully look out the window to the cloudy sky, the way he seemed so, so abashed having admitted his appreciation for earthly soil. A shy, shy boy, veiled underneath intricate layers. 

Also, complimenting Tony’s very own planet? That’s a freaking first. 

“Well, yeah. Thank you. Earth can be very pretty. But hey, from what I’ve heard from Thor, your place’s not half-bad, huh? Golden halls and inter-world bridges. Bright brilliant sun and unending seas below?”

Loki’s gaze cast downwards. “Asgard is indeed a beautiful place. An otherworldly place. Sometimes it almost seems ill-fitting of me to be in its presence.” He smiled briefly, eyes lidded and lowered, and Tony sensed a great deal of _issues_. Oh boy. “There are these grand halls Thor mentioned. But what is so beautiful about it is its gardens, its villages, the brilliance of its peoples. Children and women and great warriors of a godly kingdom, everything sheathed and swathed in a warm golden bask. In the summers when there is no strife, no great wars, the festivals in town will light up even more so the skies, lanterns that cover over the streets, illuminating the darkness the rivers provide. Music will fill the villages and towns, bards will sing, children will play, and the people will laugh and smile.”

Tony breathed shallowly, picturing the scenes, picturing Loki genuinely laughing and basking in the sun. His mind worked but it could not conjure up that picture. At least, not yet. 

“That sounds amazing,” Tony said, and Loki nodded, licking his lips nervously like he had perhaps unveiled too much. “We celebrate festivals here too.” 

Loki raised his head, interest simmering slowly in those glass-green orbs. Fascinating. 

“Well, there’s one coming up. We call it Christmas. The day before that celebration, we call Christmas Eve. It’s pretty awesome. We put up a singular large tree and decorate it with coloured bulbs and multi-coloured flashing lights. Then, when we’re done, we place a large star or an angel at the top. Also, we buy gifts for all our loved ones and wrap them up in decorative paper, so that they don’t know what’s inside, and then we place them all under that large tree for an awesome gift exchange. There’s this weird legend, too, of a fat white-haired, bearded man with red soft fluffy clothes that some children believe in. We call him Santa.”

Loki’s brow pulled together in a frown, but it was obvious he was entranced. Eyes entirely focused onto Tony’s words, form finally no longer tense, turned towards Tony. 

“We believe he comes at night down our chimneys to give us even more presents. Well, if we’re good that is.”

Loki looked hooked. “That sounds incredibly dangerous, to have a stranger enter your dwellings, no? This… stranger. Is he hired to break into your homes?”

Tony laughed, and Loki looked sheepish at having asked the question. Damn, Tony was loving the natural way they were conversing, the way they were so friendly now, as compared to minutes ago. 

“God no! This Santa figure isn’t real. It’s like a bedtime story, y’know? To make little kids be good so that Santa rewards them this year and the next.”

“I… see.” Loki said, and Tony laughed again, this time, Loki smiling along. And oh my, what a beautiful smile; the way it reached into the sparks of his eyes, the shy, abashed way he seemed to now hold himself to. The way his fingers seemed to begin playing, interloping and intertwining then drifting apart again, a subconscious motion. 

“Hey, if you guys are staying for that long, maybe we could even celebrate Christmas together? It’ll be awesome fun, and you’ll see the Christmas tree for yourself.”

Loki’s eyes widened, his form leaning slightly forwards. “Even the gift exchange?” 

Tony laughed. “Hell yeah. The whole shazam. We’ll eat log cakes and decorate the place with snowmen and reindeers. Oh my god. I need to tell you about Rudolph. And the songs. We need to teach you the songs.”

Loki scrunched up his nose at the idea of ‘log’ cakes and Tony caught Clint’s guffaw behind him. Beside them, Steve was still talking to Thor about the animals on the screen, with Thor’s intercepting “oh!”s and “ah!”s. 

Aw man, maybe things were looking up, after all. 

=================================

Loki woke up in the Allfather’s bed, naked and alone. He cradled the sheets to his chest, covering what dredges of dignity he had left. The Allfather was nowhere to be seen. And—

“You’re awake,” a familiar…

Dread, like claws, sinking into the depths of his soul. Tears already springing to his eyes. By the _Gods_ … Loki scrambled to stand, ignoring the residual ache in his behind, the sharp and yet dull stings and pain blossoming, the torments of his body screaming protest. He picked up what clothes that was lying on the ground, skittishly trying to cover up what marks the Allfather had left on his body, eyes blinking panic.

A hand reaching around him to pick up his garment, offering it to him. 

Loki turned, form stunned into stillness, guilt like ghosts haunting down the edges of his spine. 

Mother. Gods. _Mother_.

“I-I-I c-can e-e-explain,” he stuttered, fear rattling his frame. By the Gods, of all the people in the Nine Worlds, the one person he could not face, not like _this_. “I-I’m s-sorry,” he managed, eyes wide, peering into that familiar gaze. “I—“

“Loki,” a single word uttered, and Loki stilled into silence, breath held like a funeral. “Loki, listen to me.”

Loki looked up into a stern gaze. 

“Nothing happened. You fell asleep here, I brought you back to your rooms, yes?” Frigga’s hands were upon Loki’s bare shoulder now, almost gentle. Loki blinked confusion into those startlingly frightening eyes. 

“Y-yes. Nothing h-happened,” he shook his head like he could further cement that falsity into truth through his very agitation. “I fell asleep here, Mo—“

“No,” Frigga said, and Loki closed his mouth. No what?

“When we are in a private setting, just the two of us, you will no longer call me Mother,” Frigga said, eyes steel cold, hands still warm upon Loki’s own bared shoulders. “In the eyes of the people, Loki, I am your mother. But you must understand… in my own gaze, you can be no longer that.” 

Loki reeled from the realisation. His mind flashed to loving eyes and a kind smile, of graceful hands patting through the locks of his hair, of kisses upon his cheek. Of Frigga holding the two of them, both hands occupied with smaller childrens’ hands. Of the way she would bend down and plant a kiss on the back of those very hands, before sending them off to play. Of the way Frigga would calm his nightmares with song, with stories, with kind, kind eyes. 

Eyes that were no longer kind. Almost pitying, glancing back into his own. 

He was a monster. A monster who had slept with his father, who had betrayed his mother. Who was no longer worthy of her love, which had always been given freely. Loki blinked tears from his eyes, bringing up hands to wipe them away with the shirt held in shaking hands. The one thing Loki longed so much for, swept away with a fatal mistake. 

“M— Frigga,” the words tasted like ash, deadened things, on his tongue, and his heart burnt with the ache of it, the agony of having truly lost something, “I’m so sorry, _please_ , I’m so so sorry.”

Frigga casted cold, unforgiving gaze upon him, her eyes roaming across the bruises and marks licking across his body, and smiled a chilly smile. 

“I’m sorry too, Loki.”

=============================

Tony slowly began to realise that that coal-haired demigod had this inherent curiosity about most things. At first it was hidden well beneath formality and then more so beneath aloofness. But as the day slipped past and Tony invited Loki back to his lab, the sparks in those evergreen eyes had grown brighter, sparking, which Tony found undoubtably beautiful to watch.

“And this contraption?” He asked idly, though Tony knew Loki had been watching out for this one ever since stepping into the labs. 

“Oh, that one? It’s just a mini project I was working on with Banner, it’s just a prototype at this point,” Tony rambled automatically, rounding the other side of the metal table across Loki, nodding to the thing in question. No need to reveal that that very thing was an attempt at disabling intergalactic travelling through the use of particle manipulation. Thank god they had failed, and that Loki was here. 

“Banner?” Loki asked, eyes blinking mild puzzlement. 

“Oh, ah, Bruce, I meant. Bruce Banner. Brilliant nuclear physicist. And when I mean brilliant, I actually mean _unparalleled_ ,” Tony said.

“Amazing,” Loki said, looking back at the clear glass double doors as if recalling his encounter with Bruce. “He looked so…”

“Underwhelming, huh. The dude’s like that. Messy hair and derp-y face. All around ordinary kind of demeanour. Deceiving appearance,” Tony chuckled. 

Loki nodded in response, already moving on to other pieces of work in the workshop. He picked up quickly whenever Tony explained something to him, and Tony absolutely loved the way in which Loki would listen in complete rapture, eyes brighter than any Tony had ever seen. 

Loki and his long, elegant fingers, carefully tracing the various tinkles with Tony’s permission. A degree of reverence and admiration none of the other Avengers had placed on his little tools and dongs. To be honest, Tony was bursting with pride at this point. 

When they were done, Tony decided hang out with Loki in his many rooms, wanting to take some time to introduce the concept of Jarvis to him. They entered the lift, and even then Loki had so many more questions about the pulley systems involving the elevator, about this ‘electricity’ they utilised that on Asgard was a foreign and unknown entity. 

When they arrived in his rooms though, Tony honestly considering an Avengers Tower Tour specially for his favoured guests, Loki began acting… well. Weird. 

“Where… are we now?” Loki asked, and his face seemed to pale slightly, the glints and sparks in those grass-green orbs now muted, strangled, even. Tony immediately sensed the change in mood, the way Loki seemed to begin tensing, the way his feet began to shift away from Tony, fingers twitching slightly. Oh boy. 

“Well, my rooms,” Tony said, still confused with the reaction to his bedroom, but trying his best to stick it out in the most assuring way possible. 

Loki’s glance at the inner rooms —in it Tony’s luxurious King-sized bed complete with comforters— was, if Tony had to describe it, somewhat with concealed nervousness. And that was just plain odd, wasn’t it? What, were squared-sized beds offensive to Asgardians or…?

“I would honour you the privacy of your personal rooms, Stark,” Loki said, toneless. And oh would you look at that: the demigod had so easily slipped into the socialite persona again. Tony twinge-d heavily with the distance it set apart between them, a distance Tony had thought they’d close just moments before. “No need for me to be here, invading your intimate space.”

So what now… Was privacy like a huge thing on Asgard? Tony really didn’t mind. At all. 

“It’s all chill, Loki. You wanna see the bed?” Tony said, attempting to remedy the situation. If he offered casually to show—

“No,” Loki said immediately, whole body tense as a whip, the reaction almost whiplash. Jesus, the kid had _issues_. What on earth was his gig? “I have seen enough. We should return to my brother.”

What! Dude, what Asgardian etiquette did Tony break now, geez. Loki could not expect Tony to know what Asgardians found insulting, did he? He didn’t mean to… Well.

Tony raised a hand to his forehead and sighed visibly. Idiot. 

“Yeah, let’s do that. Hey, listen, if you’re ever uncomfortable whatsoever with anything I do, just tell me okay? It seems like you Asgardians have very different concepts of okays and absolutely-not-okays, but you gotta let me know, yeah? I don’t… I can’t know, exactly,” Tony said, placating, standing in the front of his bedroom hallway, blocking the sight of his personal room from view. So okay, Asgardians were uncomfortable with personal stuff and privacy? Tony could respect that. 

“I… What do you mean?” Loki said, demeanour now shifting, wary, almost. 

“I mean that in any instance you’re not okay with me doing something, anything at all, you gotta tell me, and I will stop. That is, stop doing that thing that I might not know you’re not okay with.” Tony said, frowning at the poor conveyance of his words even as he spoke them. Well, ‘haters can’t be choosers’, as the saying went right?

“Al…right,” Loki said, seeming equally confused and confounded by the odd request, fingers already subconsciously interloping and pressing against the other. There. Real Loki, and not Suave Socialite. 

Slowly, they began walking back to the lifts, and Loki became increasingly more relaxed again. Less tense. The transition was pretty comforting to see.

In the lifts, they stood in silence for a while. 

“You didn’t really get what I was saying, right?” Tony said, side-eyeing Loki. “Is it a cultural gap thing going on here?”

Loki frowned. “I… do not know. Perhaps.”

Tony huffed out laughter. 

===========================

Thor knew he was not the brightest of the bunch, but he was not exactly quite a dolt as Loki thought he was. 

Hands roughly slamming into the double front doors of Loki’s palatial rooms, Thor almost running with what wide and swift strides he was taking. Upon taking in the figure huddled in the corner of the room, Thor halted, breath coming heavily. 

Loki was huddled, face obscured by the sheets he covered himself with. The lump of cloth trembled violently, shaking, and as Thor came closer he could hear fervour murmurs and whispers emanating. Wild, crazed sounds, from his beloved brother’s lips. 

“Loki…?” 

The figure stilled so quickly that Thor imagined Loki equally stilling breath with his movement. It unsettled him. 

“Where have you been, all this time?” Thor asked, and he crouched down low, careful. “Father said he had personally brought you elsewhere to train. To harness what magic you have. I thought you both had gone on a trip over the borders of Asgard leaving me behind.”

And he was still angry about that. But although Thor was a jealous young boy who was supposedly about to throttle his brother for embarking on what seemed to be an adventure without him, he was also sure Loki was not quite alright at this moment. Thor had always trusted his gut about most things, and his instincts were now screaming at him that something was definitely off. Wrong. 

“Brother…?” He reached a hand out, making contact—

A hard, hard flinch, rattling the small body hunched into the corner of the wall. 

Thor drew back, fear seeping into him. What… had happened…?

“Hey, shh, it is alright, brother,” Thor began, words just pouring out of his mouth automatically, as if he were soothing a wild animal, “Loki, look at me. We are alright. You are back at Asgard.”

It took a long while, and although Thor was never an individual of patience, he sat it out, uttering soothing words rising up from an odd achey twinge in his heart. He did not fully comprehend the emotion, and simply left it at that. Thor was not one for inspecting things like emotion. He just emoted whatever that came naturally to him. 

When Loki finally unveiled his hidden face from the sheets, eyes tear-stained, face gaunt, looking like he had aged a thousand years, Thor could do nothing but blink back surprise. 

“Do you loathe me, Thor?” A quiet, broken whisper which swept Thor’s heart to shreds. Thor gazed upon the huddle from where he was now sitting, noting the tremors of the form like quakes threatening to shake his brother apart. Eyes that were once wide and bright now dulled, shivering with pain, with a lifelessness that Thor longed to cast away. 

“Never,” Thor said, determined, voice strong. “Brother, I could never loathe you.”

Loki reached up hands to cover his eyes, to crumple further into the sheets wrapped around him. “Weak weak weak,” he whispered to himself, thin hands trembling still, breaths coming fast. “By the Gods…”

Thor moved to lean in closer, but Loki instinctively shrunk back —impossibly still curling up further and away— from the movement. “I cannot,” Loki murmured, more to himself, “c-cannot dirty Thor.”

“Loki, what happened?” Thor asked, brows now pulled together, eyes earnest and desperate. Something must have happened. Where on Valhalla did Father bring Loki to? What did they train against? What creature could scare Loki so?

“M-monster,” Loki choked out, blinking more tears, “monster.” Thor latched on to the word, becoming more worried, more agitated now. Which monster? Who dared threaten his brother, reduce him so to such madness? Thor would gut them, slam his fists into their heart. 

“You are safe now, Loki, no monster will hunt you here.” Thor said, promised with surety. “I will protect you from any monster.”

A ripple of laughter, mad and crazed, bubbling from Loki’s lips. Thor drew back with a curling fear at the toppling sanity disintegrating in front of him, and his own helplessness to stop it. The laugh grew in sound, Loki hacking it out, genuinely laughing now; loud clangs of broken things, chest banging with the sound, scaring Thor into silence. 

Thor had never been afraid of his brother before, not like this. 

“L…Loki?” Thor ventured, eyes wide, heart thudding, figure drawing back. “Loki you are scaring me.”

Loki had uncovered the sheets now, grabbing a hand to his stomach, laughing. Another hand from his eyes, uncovering them, as well.  
 “I am positively unravelling now, aren’t I?” Loki said, a twisted smile on his face that failed to reach his eyes. “Cosmic irony, they call it. Did you know, Thor? I never understood what that meant, not until this moment.”

Thor stunned, then recovering. “Loki…”

“Thor… oh…” His brother looked adrift, eyes blank and hollow, with nothing left to give. “You are the only one left.” Loki blinked, dazed, as if realisation had struck. “I…” Loki bit his lip, and he looked so drained, so tired. “Don’t leave, Thor. I-I am so s-sorry.”

Thor shook his head, hoping to dispel all doubt from Loki’s mind. “Brother, there is no apology to be said.” He reached out, very, very slowly, to embrace Loki, to entwine his larger adolescent body around what tremble Loki’s smaller form held. 

And so, they sat, breathing into each other, Thor wanting to embrace the many cloaks of the world around his brother so none may ever hurt him ever again. 

===================

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> The lovely movie canonical Frigga is, unfortunately, not so present here. Please don't hate me. /dodges rocks /takes cover under shelter
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> Also, thank you for the waiting patiently, as always!
> 
> P.S. Comments are <3 :) *rains hot chocolate and warm blankets onto everyone*


	4. Chapter 4

“Brother,” Thor said, as Tony brought Loki back to the living room where a particular duo remained. Well, Tony guessed Steve was likely the only one patient enough to explain each and every Earthly animal to the crown prince of Asgard. 

Loki inclined his head gracefully. “Thor.”

“Come here, Loki. Look upon this creature,” Thor beckoned, eyes locked to the screen. And Tony watched Loki seemingly sighing internally, before sitting by Thor on the couch and looking to a close-up shot of a mudskipper laying in the sun. “It is so ugly,” the blonde-haired god said with a reverence. 

Tony and Steve both laughed abruptly, and Loki indulged a smile. 

“Mmm,” Loki replied in agreement. 

=================================

Loki never saw the Allfather except for grand formal events, where they kept polite distance. It was an entangled, suffocating relationship Loki tried his utmost to balance. In between hiding from Thor the truth of what he was, what he had done, and skirting the edges of Frigga and the Allfather, Loki was absolutely exhausted. After a time, he had been reduced to confining himself to his own rooms, and doling out his time worrying and panicking about Thor ever abandoning him. 

It was a tiring existence. Thor visited him a lot initially, attempting to lure him out into the dangerous open. Loki understood his brother’s good intentions, but it was… better this way. Soon, as all children’s attentions spans go, Thor had given up on getting Loki out into the sun. Instead, Thor would come by to visit sometimes, spending time together. 

Life went on. Impossibly and slowly, but it did. Loki practiced his magic, and laid in bed. Otherwise, he was in his own private baths, scrubbing painfully at skin which would not peel away from his bones. 

He did not sleep. In the case his body finally caved and shut down, unending nightmares plagued him, and he would wake right back up within mere hours. He depleted his energies to substances and spells to keep himself awake, pushing relentlessly at his immortal body to render sleep at bay for as long as he could. 

Upon retrieving the knock at the door and facing Odin’s soldier, Loki felt his heart sink. The orders falling out and away from the other’s mouth stung his ears, paused his faltering heartbeat. 

“The Allfather requests your presence.”

Loki knew. It was odd, but he knew. A grand feast had been ongoing for five days and nights now, something about gaining victory against rebellions in the east, slaying the horde of them until they were no more. Just the day before, Thor had described to Loki the head he saw speared atop the royal post, high in the sky; a warning to all of what may happen to them, should they harbour similar discontent against the Allfather and his wishes. Crude, but effective. 

Loki dipped his head in assent, and the solider departed, Loki following close behind. 

Why did he feel like he was walking to his death? A sentence upon his head. He was merely fulfilling his purpose. This was the reason why he was born, why he was provided shelter and training and once-affection. A tool of the kingdom.

Dread, like needles pouring through his skin, as they entered the Allfather’s chambers, as the soldiers were immediately called off, as hands roughly grabbed Loki’s shoulders, pushing him towards the bed.

No words. No acknowledgement, at least, not yet. Loki blinked, fear thudding madly, looking up at the much larger form of the Allfather, the man who had allowed his life to exist. Odin sat on the bed, mead-addled no doubt, his breath coming in faster. 

There were no lights, the room darkened, only an odd ethereal light from the galaxies of stars outside peeking through, hushed with the secret the figures in the room shared. Hands sifting through the locks of Loki’s hair, scraping his nape. And then those hands pushed Loki’s head, down down down, to where—

Tears pooling in his eyes, warming them. Loki did not know why he was so scared, why his lungs seemed to be chasing hushed breaths out of cavities into crisp night air, faux-innocent with harboured secrets, why the Allfather’s single eye upon his now naked —stripped callously— form was so intimidating, and yet so wanted. That perhaps the only time the Allfather would look upon him, him and only him, in a way that was not disgust, was when they did _this_. 

He reached his mouth to the Allfather’s manhood, the order clearly implicit, hands still trapped in his hair applying relentless pressure, and swallowed whole, going through the motions in the way the men in the cell had taught him. 

The Allfather made a long sound: a groan. Loki began moving quickly, careful of his teeth, using hands to support himself. When it hit the back of his throat, he blinked through the tears, managing just a breath from gagging. He swallowed, and then swallowed some more, and the organ made it through that part of his throat, all the way down. 

Loki knew he would not die from lack of air, but still it was a terrifying notion. 

“Yes… Loki. Good, just like that,” the Allfather said, and ache blossomed in Loki’s chest, spreading warm waves. He needed _more_. More affection, more affirmation he was needed. That it was okay for him to be here, even though he was a monster. 

Loki sped up, wanting to make it good, wanting to show he _was_ good, that he loved the Allfather and Frigga and Thor and maybe, just maybe, if he was good, if he did what they told him to—

More groans, more moans, more affirmation. Words like “You’re perfect, so perfect…”, words like “amazing… so good…” and Loki was heady with it, the praises buzzing his body alive, bursting his heart anew. Yes, yes, he was good, see? More words. More affection. More love. 

Loki wasn’t picky. He could live with this, could take it. It was just pain, just a little humiliation. He sped up his motions, until the Allfather suddenly stood up, held Loki’s head still with firm hands, and then began thrusting into his mouth with rough hips. Loki remained limp, keeping his throat open to facilitate the movement, suppressing his gag reflex. 

He looked up into the Allfather’s face, casted by the lights, and he saw love.

==============================

“Jet lag?” Tony said, leaning against the wall by the TV. Under the unholy cast of moonlight, Loki stood, shadow like ghosts, blending against one another. His form was lone and cast away, reflection slight as he gazed out into the busy blinding city lights, which at this time, were also beginning to retire for a good slumber. 

Loki turned back slightly, acknowledging the presence. “Earthian term?” His voice soft and ethereal in the quiet of night, almost young. 

Tony walked up to stand beside Loki along the large glass panels looking out to the city. “Yeah.”

The quiet that surrounded them was almost peaceful if not for the poignant air Loki gave out, casting that lone singular figure against the buzz of people, faraway from reach. A single solitary dot against a bright bustling world. 

“Can’t sleep?” Tony broke the silence, sneaking an eye to his isolated comrade. 

Loki blinked into the darkness, inclined his head just so. After a moment, he spoke. 

“Slumber, I find, is often an elusive creature.”

Tony smiled, found in himself an appreciation for the beautiful way Loki so often spoke. Archaic, yes, but almost too pretty. 

“You sure you don’t want that drink?” Tony said, voice quiet, a volume suited to the silence of nighttime. This time, it was Loki’s turn to look at Tony. The silence stretched as Tony watched the demigod seemingly search Tony’s own expression. He wondered what the prince saw there.

“Are you having trouble sleeping too?” Loki said, voice deep and velvety, eyes sparking brightly in the otherworldly glow of moonlight. 

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, well, it comes and goes. Usually I head out here for a drink and instantly sleep becomes no problemo. If not, I go downstairs to my workshop and play for a while until my system begs me for sleep.” 

Loki smiled warmly, allowing his gaze to cast back out to the view of the city. “The latter is not quite unlike my own routine. Unfortunately for former option, I am not fond of alcohol.” 

Tony raised a brow. “Don’t like the way it tastes?”

Loki laughed. “On the contrary.”

Tony chuckled good-naturedly along. “Well, then why not?”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “I dislike the way it smells. Especially on one’s breath.” 

Tony walked over to the bar, already beginning to concoct the best Earthian alcohol to ever grace an Asgardian’s lips. Loki’s eyes trailed his movements in curiosity, and slowly, he made his way to the minibar, seating himself opposite Tony. 

“Hey, I’m sure I can help you find one that suits your palate. Earth’s drinks are pretty different-smelling from what you’ve probably tried,” Tony said as he easily began mixing coloured liquids, Loki’s eyes entranced, following. 

“I must admit that you have my curiosity piqued, Tony,” Loki allowed, eyes brighter under the lights of the minibar. Tony indulged in the thrill that sung through him at the casual use of his first name. “Earth’s alcohol appears vastly different from what I have imbibed myself on in Asgard.” 

“I personally guarantee its awesomeness,” Tony grinning. Loki smiled, and it reached his eyes just so, in that way that had Tony’s heart beating just slightly faster. 

“I have never shared drinks with a friend, before,” Loki said offhandedly, and then seemed to still upon realising what he had said. Tony thought back to the lone figure against the large expanse of glass unveiling a wide, unending city with millions of people buzzing, and somewhat did not find the statement surprising. 

“Thank you, Loki. I’m honoured,” Tony beamed, and Loki seemed to allow to let the statement be as it was, although Tony caught just slightly underneath the bar Loki’s fingers beginning to fidget nervously again. 

“How’s Thor?” Tony continued casually, not giving away the fact he had observed so much more of this fey creature than he had let on. 

“Sound asleep. Even the destruction of the nine worlds would not wake him, at this point,” Loki said, bringing the offered drink to his lips with both hands cupping the glass, sipping at it like a child would milk. Tony ignored the urge to coo. 

“Ah, fortunately for us we’re all light sleepers. Most nights, Natasha, Bruce and Steve would be up, too.”

Loki licked his lips, frowning sightly at the taste of his drink, before going back for more in the same way: two hands on the cup, lips on the rim of it, sipping. “You all imbibe yourselves to sleep? Though I must say: this tastes odd and really nice all at the same time. My senses are pleasantly confounded.”

Tony barked laughter. “Welcome to Earth, my friend. And, hey, it’s not a secret that I’m the only alcoholic here. The rest don’t drink much, if at all. Except Natasha. I’m starting to believe that woman is incapable of getting drunk.”

Loki smiled. “The popcorn thief?”

Tony cackled with laughter midway through his own drink, almost spluttering. He indulged in the way it made his belly all warm and nice. “Holy shit, you remembered that?”

Loki shrugged, eyes twinkling. “It _was_ a pretty distinct first impression. Also, the way which she cornered me in my chambers and then attempted to interrogate me, well…”

Tony stood up abruptly. “What! She’s already on it? That sneaky little shit. When was that?”

Loki huffed a breath. “In the evening, before Thor retired to bed. She’s an aggressive one, that. Popcorn thief indeed… I am almost inclined to believe you, Tony.”

Tony chortled at the joke. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s a scary little missy. I mean… today? Seriously? What did she ask?”

Loki sipped once more at his drink, eyes becoming warmer, shoulders becoming looser. Tony blinked in the darkness. A lightweight?

“She… She wanted to know why we were here, which I then reiterated to her our intentions. I don’t think she believed me. Maybe she thinks Thor and I are here to subjugate the whole Midgardian species. Well, Thor’s too interested in your species for that, really.”

And rambling too, Tony noted, amused. Adorable. 

“But could you, though?” Tony said, eyes glinting, leaning forward on the counter, “Could you subjugate us?”

Loki’s reactions seemed just slightly slower now, blinking in the dark. He raised his cup to his lips again, drinking generously instead of the wary sips from before. “I suppose so,” he said, voice soft in contemplation. 

Tony raised a brow. “Really?”

He watched Loki’s sensual tongue peeking out to glide across parted lips, watched those eyes lose slightly their top notch focus. “Yes.”

“How?”

Loki shook his head, frowning and clearing his throat. He obviously wasn’t drunk _drunk_ yet, but hey, he was getting there, slowly. Slightly tipsy now, was the word. “Thor has his hammer, Asgard his army. They are relentless bloodthirsty beasts on the battlefield, who would not shy away from dying with honour. In contrast you… Mid— humans. You humans are so… soft. So malleable. It would…” he blinked, shook his head to refocus slightly, “almost be unfair to attack you.”

Tony realised Loki didn’t seem to be lying. Well, it was the plan, right? Let them underestimate humankind, blah blah. Nonetheless, for Tony not to stand up for his own kind would just be ridiculous. 

“But we’re smart. And we have weird people with weird abilities who would fight for mankind.” Was that too much information? Probably not: vague enough for a tipsy enough god. 

Loki blinked. “I suppose so. People like… _you_ , Tony Stark. Your work is brilliant. If only Asgardians were half as intelligent as you. Asgard would be invincible.”

Tony flushed from both the alcohol and the pride welling in his veins. Well. 

“Too bad, darling. I’m truly one of a kind, I am.” 

Loki huffed laughter. “Don’t be pompous, Stark.”

“No need to hide your secret admiration for me, Lokes,” Tony bantered back, welling up true laughter from the other. Laughter like music pouring and scattering into winds; a truly beautiful sound. The way Loki’s eyes crinkled, the way it sparked like stardust collapsing in the sky. 

“But… indulge me, Loki,” Tony said, as their laughter soon died organically, fading to a companionable quiet. He whipped out more of his collection, continuing to mix up a second cup seeing as the princeling was quickly making his way through his first, “How would y’all go about subjugating Midgard, if you wanted to, that is?”

Loki blinked slowly, letting a single finger twirl around the rounded glass edges of his cup, looking at the way Tony was mixing up another drink. Sounds slushing and cups clinking, smooth.

“Are you interrogating me, Stark?” Loki laughed. Tony watched how his eyes was sparking ever so often now, how his body seemed entirely loosened, shoulders rolled back slightly, arms coming up to rest on top of the counter instead of underneath it. “Well, if it were up to Thor, the brute would simply charge in with all of Asgard’s forces. All of his warriors, an unstoppable violent flood of them. In that scenario, Tony,” Loki tapped once his glass, eyes blinking, “Midgard would still lose. But by the end of that war would be needless suffering on both ends. A lot of death, given Midgard’s expected token resistance.”

Tony nodded. He wouldn’t expect any less from the rash-like golden kid of a brother. “That is assuming if Thor were in charge?”

Loki nodded, looking at his empty glass, “If it were up to the Allfather, if Thor had not ascended the throne yet at that point, well… The Allfather would simply discharge his army in a more strategic manner. A vicious but swift overtaking, if you will. Cut our losses, while guaranteeing victory. An experienced take. My guess…?” He tapped the glass again, “Perhaps he’d discharge Asgard’s warriors simultaneously all over your world, at a chosen time when none might expect.”

Tony pushed over the second glass to Loki’s hands, taking the first away and putting it into the sink on his own end. “You mean, a surprise attack?”

Loki paused, blinked at the second cup, then nodded slowly. 

“And you?” Tony asked, body leaning forward over the counter, swishing his own glass in his hand, then clinking it against Loki’s before bringing it to his mouth. “How would _you_ go about it?”

“Me?” Loki laughed, smiling almost shyly. “I am and will be no king, Stark.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Tony said, “All hypotheticals, here. Make-believe what ifs.”

Loki brought his second cup to his lips, drinking, mind whirring. Tony leaned amiably against the counter, winning smile still plastered on his face, drinking his own alcoholic drink, feeling the sensation of it burning beautifully down his throat. Ah, sweet, sweet bliss. 

“Hypothetically…” Loki began, “I would assimilate as much information as I could with envoys from Asgard. Information about the contending political systems in place, military might and so on.” Loki turned slightly, gazing off into the distance, hair falling down along the fairness of his nape, Tony watching, entranced, half-noting that Loki was already beginning to ramble. “Then… I would perhaps convene a faction of assassins, those of great skill, to be sent to quietly terminate your political leaders in a manner that would create strife. Perhaps plant something to set two major assemblies against one another. What do you call them? Ah, countries?”

Tony sobered slightly at the words. 

“And when there is much conflict, when the situation becomes increasingly chaotic and the commons become desperate, attentions will be placed away from us. At this point, Tony,” Loki said, eyes blinking slowly, cheeks mildly flushed, “will I then send Asgard’s armies. Internal strife will confuse all, provide a shade for our forces to invade. By the time it is over, it will be probably too late.”

Tony breathed slowly, eyes widening slightly. Well. That… seemed like something that could actually happen. It wasn’t even a plan of wham, bam, thank you mam, where the Avengers could swoop in and save the day. It was… a legitimate political upheaval, followed by international war, and then intergalactic overtaking. Internal strife and human political entanglements the Avengers likely would not be allowed to get caught up in, even if they wanted to. That Loki’s plan could actually work was equal parts terrifying and amazing. 

“Loki…” Tony said, as the god finished his second glass, reaching for the third already in place.

“Of course, Stark, if you are worried, fret not,” Loki blinked blearily, shaking his head, wetting his lips, “If this were truly the present plan and Thor and I were… envoys sent here to garner Midgardian intelligence, I would obviously… not be saying this at all.”

Tony laughed, shooting the prince a charming, boyish smile. “Well, _unless_ you’re trying to double bluff me by purposefully revealing these plans and then carrying them out in secret anyway, making me think that you would not reveal them to me and then execute said plan unless you were _actually_ making said plans happen—”

“By the Gods, Tony, you are… hurting my head,” Loki blinked, drinking generously from his third cup, those long fingers closing firmly around the curve of it. He closed his eyes as he lifted a hand to support his forehead. He was completely flushed now, all parted wet lips and long, long lashes. “Do I look sober enough for whatever concoction your mind is… presently blending for you? It is likely I will have forgotten our conversation by… the morn.”

“What! No, hey, you better not forget I made you awesome drinks,” Tony said, indignant. “Though yeah, gotta admit, Lokes, you don’t look too sober right now. You wanna go to bed?”

Loki waved a hand. “I’m fine… Wouldn't miss this… for the Nine Worlds.”

Tony barked a laughter, heart swelling. “Is that sarcasm I hear?”

Loki sighed heavily, a dry laughter forming. “Not exactly.” He raised his third cup, only to realise it was empty. Then, the prince began staring longing at the cup, eyes blinking ever so slowly, unfocused. Oh boy, that should not be so endearing to watch. 

After a few moments of indulging that unfocused longing gaze at, apparently, an empty glass, Tony intervened, “Loki, I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.” He raised the back of his hand to Loki’s forehead, touching the fevered hotness of the skin there. Loki leaned back slowly from the touch, motions uncoordinated. 

“Let’s… talk more,” Loki mumbled, distracted by air, and Tony held back laughter at the sight. “I want to know why… these… creatures the _mardcippers_ ,” Loki’s tongue stumbling over the word, pulverising it completely from knowable human comprehension, “arre so…” He wafted his hand in the air, blinking so ever ever slowly and stupidly, “ugly…”

Tony guffawed, almost choking, stomach clenching with the sight of the Loki so drunk. He quickly walked over to the other end of the counter, hefting Loki’s weight off of his chair, and brought Loki’s lithe arm around his own shoulders for additional support.

“Come on, buddy, time for bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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>  Thank you once again for the massive support :) It is awesome to discuss and chat with y'all about the characters and world-building in this AU verse :) Feel free to ask questions/comment about the narrative. I'm known for answering in rambles and it is insanely _fun_. Thank you for sticking for the wild ride!
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> P.S. Comments are absolute <3 :)


	5. Chapter 5

Rustling. Sounds of rustling. Of a man’s husky panicked whisper: “Shit, fuck, shit.” His bed dipping, pressure shifting. Body moving. More rustling. 

Loki blinked his eyes open, frowning, his eyes meeting: a half-naked stranger in his bed, eyes equally as wide as his, the warm brown orbs littered with surprise, hair tousled and curled with the dredges of sleep, half-crawling off the bed with a shirt in hand. 

“Uhh…?” the man said. Loki blinked into the massive headache he had, before the thought hit properly: stranger. in. his. bed. 

Loki tumbled backwards, body coordination awkward and clumsy, form toppling easily off and over the edge of the bed with how swiftly he had tried to move and failed. He fell to the floor in a flop of folded limbs, still attempting to move away while lying in a heap on the ground. 

_Why, who— What?_

“My _god_ , hey, you okay?” A single head popping over the edge of the bed, entering Loki’s sight. Memory forming murkily in his head: Tony, the Midgardian. Thor and him travelling through the Bifrost, meeting Stark in his metalloid suit, visiting his workplace, watching ‘TV’. 

Ah. 

“I…” Loki mumbled, voice deep with sleep. He slowly tangled his limbs from the heap they had formed, joints popping unpleasantly, “You…” He raised a hand to hold his head, his vision swimming. By the Gods, this was a mess. His head burnt, and closing his eyes did not better his circumstance by much, either. He heard footsteps of Tony nimbly stepping off the bed and into the baths, the brief rush of water from what he had learnt was a ‘tap’, and what seemed like Tony coming back, footsteps growing louder and closer. 

Loki squinted, watching as the human walked around the large bed, crouched slowly in front of where he lay slumped, and nudged a cup of water into his hands. 

“I know, man, hangovers are a bitch,” Tony said, grinning, as Loki took the offered cup and slowly drank. Gods, would the world ever stop moving so quickly? Would it ever stop being so bright? 

“Thank you,” he choked out, voice low and growly, almost, husky as it was with sleep. It had been a long, long time since he last slept. Months, at least. He was getting unused to the reboot of awakening. 

“I’ve got your back, buddy,” Stark said, leaning by his side, shirt still clenched in hand. Loki drank and watched him warily, alerting the human to the realisation that yes, he was still half-dressed, and that _yes_ , Loki would much prefer the human be dressed with cloth that would cover his skin from sight. 

Quietly, Tony quickly spread out the crumpled mess of fabric in his palm and slid it over his rumpled nest-hair of a head, stretching the arm holes so his hands could push through quickly. Then, they sat there, as Loki gathered what clarity his brain could provide. 

“Last night…” Loki began, frowning. He remembered… drinking? Laughing, even. Of warm banter and blinking city lights roaming across crisp night air. 

“Oh no, this is _not_ going to turn out like a conversation from a rom com,” Tony said, swallowing. Loki raised a single brow at the Earthian term, unimpressed without context. “I have had waaaay too many drunkard one night stands and after-mornings filled with conversation like this, and this is soo not it. At all. Like, completely—”

“Tony,” Loki said, sighing. “Words.” 

Tony gleefully barked laughter. “You hungover sass bomb. If not for your exhausted face I would be throttling you with limitless chatter, Stark style. Lucky for you, between the both of us, I am not hung over.”

Loki inhaled slowly, squinting and crumpling his face at the brightness of the sun, high up in the sky. “And?”

“And, ah…” Tony said, suddenly unsure, “we didn’t do anything last night…?”

Loki blinked, swallowed, then sighed very very heavily. If they did… well, it was not like he remembered anything whatsoever. His body was not of much importance. He could easily write this off as a one-time mistake. Usually, he loathed the notion of intercourse; it made his skin crawl, his blood shiver. He had only ever… slept with the select people the Allfather ordered— Ah but no need to dwell on such dour things while he was on Midgard, while his head still pounded with the might of Mjölnir herself. Hel.

“Tony, you are ending with a tone of question,” Loki said, headache subsiding slightly with the aid of water, “Why is that?”

“Because… I really don’t actually know?” Tony replied, sheepish. “Bud, I’ve had my fair share of lays, and usually the only way I know is only if my partner was sober enough the day before, y’know?”

Loki gingerly placed the empty cup on the bedside top, feeling a hundred thousand years old. “No, I do not know.”

“If you’re feeling any uncomfortable twinges in any area of your body, Lokes, it’s best if you told me now, too. Like, right now _now_ ,” Stark continued, and Loki turned back to the human, noting how his tone had become increasingly nervous. By Hel, Tony’s nerves was making _Loki_ nervous. 

“Why?” Loki asked warily. 

“Because… I don’t see a freaking _condom_ anywhere, no matter how hard I look. Because I may have been too rough while drunk and could have hurt you? Because, oh I don’t know, you’re actually a space alien and we may have had sex and our bodies could be secretly sexually incompatible and maybe we’ve passed each other space rabies and we could possibly die very soon? Maybe? Just maybe?” Tony rambled, gushing, laughing nervously, “Think about it, yeah. We could have screwed and now we’re totally screwed.”

Loki blinked, feeling too uncoordinated for Tony’s level of information output. “Space rabies? Condoms?”

“Oh my god,” Tony said, almost moaning in despair. “Oh my god you don’t know what condoms are.”

Loki crumpled his nose in distaste. “In the same manner you do not know what Bilgesnipes are.”

Tony stilled. “What the hell are Bilgesnipes? Please tell me those are Asgardian words for condom. The image of all you godly kids going unsafely bareback is _killing_ me.”

Loki shook his head, a disapproving motion against Tony’s incessant babble. “Bilgesnipes are creatures with sharp antlers—”

“No no no, this is _not_ happening,” Tony said, standing. He flustered for a while, hesitant, worried, before he suddenly stilled. Loki watched the process with a startlingly exhaustion. He had never felt so old, and Tony was behaving like that babbling troublesome child no one wanted to spend time with. 

“I’m an idiot,” Tony whispered under his breath, to which Loki numbly nodded in agreement to, head pounding too relentlessly to express verbal consensus. “Jarvis, bud, er, show me yesterday’s footage.” 

“Are you sure you want to scar your eyes, Sir?” Jarvis, Tony’s mechanical helper, sounded from the ceiling. Loki sighed into both his palms. 

“Yes, Jarv, no time to play bitch mode with you,” Tony said, swiping digital data left and right. Then, a blue screen appeared in front of them, hovering in midair. Loki would be more fascinated if not for the realisation that he was perhaps going to watch—

_skin obnoxiously slapping skin in the dark, coarse hands and tongue roaming his body, blunt pain rippling up his spine—_

Loki clasped his hands over his ears, closed his eyes and huddled his head into his knees. No. Absolutely not. By the Gods he was not going to watch yet another man touch—

“Fuck yes!” Tony was exclaiming, relief clear in his tone. Loki peered curiously, squinting. “No alien sex happened. Alright, we’re all good.”

With eyes opened, Loki watched as the two figures on the screen stumbled into bed together. Himself out cold as soon as he fell upon the sheets, Tony still semi-tipsy, tumbling along and lying beside him, breathing heavily from having supported Loki’s extra weight. A still moment when Tony on the screen just panted, then casually took off his shirt, and promptly fell asleep. 

Loki stared. Stared some more. Then huffed a breath through his nose.

They were both dolts.

Tony turned back to Loki leaning on the side of the bed. “Sorry for being so happy at not having sexed you, man. Not that you’re not good-looking, Lokes. It’s just—”

“Alien rabies,” Loki said, as if the two succinct words explained their whole panicked morning. He huffed more breathy laughter. By the Gods why was he too so relieved? His heart no longer dulled to numbness? A weight that had been pressing down on him now lifted?

Tony nodded, once, twice, then slumped beside Loki again. 

“Alien rabies.”

==================================

Tony groaned at the lights filtering through the blinds and open windows as they made their way through the hallways of Loki’s guest room. What time was it again?

“No more imbibing too liberally,” Loki murmured to himself behind him, long legs shuffling. Tony laughed heartily without a glance back at the hung over god. 

“That’s pretty much what I tell myself at every hang over, and then go on to happily forget when repeating the drinking cycle,” Tony said, reaching a hand out to press the lift buttons upon reaching the set of glass doors.

“I mean it… this time,” Loki managed, sounding absolutely worse for wear, and Tony amused himself at the thought that as soon as he came into contact with extraterrestrial life form, he proceeded to get them drunk and hung over the very next morning. It was delightful. A tick of his ever-growing bucket list, if anything. 

They entered the open elevator doors, stepping over the small threshold. Tony smirked. “That’s what they all say,” he sing-songed, pushing yet another button for the living room floor. “Until the next time, that is.”

Loki sighed beside him, long and hard. 

==================================

They learnt in the elevators that Thor was up with Steve in the sparring rooms, which Loki then indicated interest in. They descended the floors to the underground facility, lights blinking between openings and then going out altogether. 

They entered the sparring arena, and immediately they heard loud grunts and the sounds of concrete crumbling. 

“What the…” Tony gaped, eyes wide. The walls by the sides were cracked, human-sized indents pressing holes into the once-pristine flat surfaces. The punching bags in the corner were littered with fist-like holes, too, the sandy material inside flooding out. Grunts and sounds of thudding punches landed by the two figures in the middle of it all, an unbreakable storm of concentration, ignoring the two new figures at the doors. 

Steve ducked low, form sturdy, missing by a hair’s breath Thor’s mighty fist. From a crouch, he aimed for a swing of his own fists at Thor’s midsection, only to have Thor shifting to his left in a pivoting move, avoiding a deadly move by a graze. 

Tony exhaled heavily at the damaged walls like the mom figure he was —which wasn’t often— and from the side of his eye glanced to Loki, who seemed to be watching passively, but his eyes were bright with fiery focus, observing. 

Tony folded his arms against his own chest, leaned against the side of the wall. The two, when pitted against each other with pure fists, were a sight to behold, if Tony was being honest. Steady stances, earnest gazes and brute fists; a terrifying combination. Fascinating to watch from the sidelines. 

Thor broke a grin midway through as they rounded each other up, resting, breaths coming quickly, chests heaving, perspiration dripping down necks. He gestured with a brief nod of his head to the two spectators, and let his fighting stance fall, arms dropping to his sides, straightening. Steve turned his head, only then noticing Tony and Loki both watching. A puppy-like excitement with those eyes lit bright and alive, then he brought a hand up and waved. Tony had never felt more like a soccer mom. 

“Tony!” Steve called, beckoning. Thor and Steve grabbed towels from benches where they had left their water bottles, wiping perspiration from their foreheads, and if not for the cracks in Tony’s beautiful walls, he would think the two muscle heads could easily pass off as ordinary gym buddies working out. 

The two grabbed their bottles and chugged as Tony and Loki walked across the large arena to greet them. 

“So… how long…” Tony gestured between the two heaving sparring partners and his mildly-not-mildly damaged fighting arena with what he called his squinty look. Beside him, Loki seemed to be trying to hide his amusement.

“Since this morning,” Steve was saying excitedly, bright-eyed, breathing heavily. He looked like he’d won all the prizes at a fair, only this time instead of prizes he had gained an intergalactic sparring muscle head buddy. And hey, don’t blame his general apathy to this whole shebang, okay? Tony was more of the charming intellectual type. He worked out once or twice a week purely due to necessity; it wasn’t a pastime. He would probably never understand what gym-obsessed deep-grunting brats like Steve got up to in their free time. It wasn’t like Tony would ever get up before sunrise to lift weights or run ten miles or god forbid, make _organic breakfast_. The horror.

“You mean even before the sun woke up?” Tony said, squinting, his inner self whispering judgement. The sun was there for a reason. Five a.m. was _not_ morning. 

“Well, we couldn’t wait,” Steve said, slightly sheepish, grinning at Thor, who was chuckling back, drinking more water than a mountain. “We really wanted to spar.” 

Tony whipped out his phone. It was eleven. “So you proceeded to wreck my beautiful sparring arena for six hours?”

Thor slapped Tony’s back, Tony suppressing an ‘oof’ to maintain his manly pride. “Not for so long, my friend. Steve and I were merely sparring for three of your Midgard hours.”

Tony held back the urge to roll his eyes. They probably went for a ten mile marathon and blended up protein shakes together for the two hours before that, jeez.

“Would you like to spar, Stark?” Thor was saying, inviting, and Tony was already opening his mouth to reply, but before he could…

“How about you and Loki spar?” Steve said, the idea coming from nowhere, “Thor and I would love to spectate. We are pretty exhausted from our fight.”

Tony turned to face Loki and watched a single brow rise slowly. Well, absolutely not.

“Steve, I’m kinda in my pajamas here,” Tony said, pouting. Steve waved his hands, laughing. “Excuses, excuses.”

Thor was talking to Loki, brightening visibly from the idea. “It has been long since I watched you spar, Brother! It is the perfect opportunity.” Tony watched the grimace slowly form on Loki’s face, watched the general flood of reluctance in his hunched shoulders, screaming in body language: _what a pain_. 

Tony agreed wholeheartedly. 

“We’re hung over, Steve. It’s probably the worst idea ever,” Tony said, slipping in his persuasive suave persona. Steve stood his ground, though, as the idea grew more and more favourable and interesting to half the people in the room. The half that wasn’t going to be involved.

“You can test out the new suit, Tony. Test it out against a real god.” Steve said, eyes blinking in a very non-subtle way: _you can see if you could best him if he turns out to be a threat_. Tony clenched his teeth, infuriated in the way that Steve could be so very smart and convincing when he actually wanted to be. Sometimes, Tony truly believed Steve was much, much more observant and intelligent then he actually let on, and then Steve would proceed to ask why it was ‘not cool’ to google a website link to actually get to said website, and Tony would totally cast away the possibility. Muscle headed idiot.

Loki glanced to Tony in a way that was equal parts hesitance and equal parts curiosity upon hearing Steve’s words. Well. 

Tony caved, shrugging. “Okay, okay. Fine. If Loki wants to, that is.”

Thor whooped, grinning from ear to ear, and Loki sighed. “Alright, brother.”

Tony and Loki changed their clothes to loose fitting ones, and discussed the parameters of their sparring match like civilised people. That yes, Tony could use the suit and whatever weaponry he so chose, and that yes, Loki wanted to have his throwing knives, and that no, Loki didn’t know what guns were, and he didn’t mind finding out mid-fight if that was the case. Also interestingly, that yes, Loki healed much faster than any man, so it was quite fine if Tony decided to take the fight seriously and aimed to maim or kill, though it wouldn't be pleasant. They both outwardly frowned at the thought. Oh boy. 

The spar would end the moment any of them yielded, which Tony interpreted as: if at anytime any of them just didn’t feel it, they would stop. Pretty straightforward, except Tony was a prideful little shit. He sure as hell wouldn't be yielding first. 

Also, Loki made Tony promise not to give him real blades, but wooden ones. He seemed genuinely worried about hurting Tony, and as much as that made his pride take a blow, at least his body wouldn’t. 

With the preparations complete, and with two cheerleaders by the benches leaning at the edge of their seats, sweating more profusely than the two contending sparring partners in the arena, the fight began. 

Tony flipped his mask down. Loki held the wooden daggers. Steve finished the countdown with a vibrating excitement that made Tony frankly nervous, somehow. He wanted to impress Loki, but he didn’t wanna do anything too violent. 

Tony blinked. One second Loki was standing there and the next he just wasn’t. Tony dodged to the side just in time, seeing by his peripherals Loki’s form moving, so fast he hardly caught it. 

Tony turned and fired, balancing and charging at the same time, and watched in awe as Loki gracefully moved out of the way, eyes glinting with a cold that sent shivers down his spine. Limbs long and gait graceful, stance loose and tight all at the same time. 

Unlike Steve’s and Thor’s grunt-filled fight, this one was conducted in dead silence; Loki so light on his feet Tony was sure he was almost gliding; a skater in a ring, with those entrancing eyes, never leaving Tony’s own, even through the field visor. It was simultaneously terrifying and inspiring, like watching a tsunami overhead, gushing and pouring, vicious, _cutting_ but also almost too beautiful to withstand. 

They finally made contact, Loki suddenly assuming a more aggressive stance, wooden blade clashing madly with Tony’s metal arm. It dented in but didn’t cave, and Tony marvelled at the strength in those lithe, graceful limbs, those unflinching eyes looking out from underneath long lashes. 

Muscles rippling, so fast he barely could react in time, they clashed once more, at different angles, with differing intentions on where to strike. Loki pivoted around him quickly and Tony turned to blast. He refused to use any flying, considering it would be unfair to Loki. 

He powered backwards, though, and for a moment caught Loki’s curious gaze watching the mechanism of his feet, of the light in the arc reactor, brain whirring. Almost like a feline with those otherworldly eyes, flashing and swimming with depths of unknowable lights. 

They rounded each other for a time, not moving in circles but just standing there. Loki wasn’t even panting. 

“Powered by the reactor,” Tony called out in his mechanical voice a distance away, no longer able to endure that overpowering curiosity burning in Loki’s lingering gaze. 

Everyone paused in the broken quiet. 

“You mentioned ‘nuclear’, yesterday,” Loki said, voice level, expression that was once emotionless, cold almost, now slipping back into the Loki Tony absolutely adored. A blinking face, eyes so open, so curious, so innocent. “I can sense the bursts of energies flowing through your metallic system, even as you move. It charges and builds. Those blasts you shoot…”

“Yeah, except not really. I… um. Kinda created an element? That’s what’s powering my suit. One-of-a-kind trademark.” He tapped the glowing blue in his chest proudly.

Loki’s stance dropped. In the background, Tony heard Steve and Thor’s disappointed groans that this was turning out to be an academic lesson, after all. Loki glanced up to the stands, eyes smirking with humming amusement at the responses. What did the muscle people expect of them? They were both intellectually stimulating to the other, no matter the circumstance. Tony would take introducing Loki to his suits over fighting him any day.

“You… created an element,” Loki stated, brow raising. “That ‘chemistry’ book you loaned me yesterday may have contained concepts of that. But it did not state you…”

“Ah, no one kinda knows yet,” Tony laughed and Loki huffed in a way that he seemed to find Tony’s nonchalance towards creating a whole new element incredulous. 

“You are fascinating, Tony Stark,” Loki said, smiling. 

“Well—”

“Um, guys,” Steve said, intervening, “the fight? It’s only been five minutes.”

Tony sighed, once, and Loki grimaced. Steve and Thor were more interested in them fighting than themselves. 

“Alright, Lokes,” Tony said, a warning shot as he started up a kungfu stance, just for the heck of it, and Loki laughed back at the stupidity of the motion. “Sparring time again.”

Loki nodded, smiling, then whipped forwards, this time directly, and instead of backing to the side Tony lifted his hand, aiming directly for the blurred figure moving towards him. He fired, a distraction, but Loki didn’t know that yet, and then _lunged_ forward, wrapping his arms around what he seemed to think was his opponent —for all he knew it could just be air— and powered to maximum his suit, aiming towards the ground, so they would both—

Loki was moving so fast, momentarily distracted by the blast that he didn’t see Tony’s attempted takedown move. They flew for many moments into the air and then crashed to the floor together, Loki’s momentum large by his insane speed, and Tony helplessly hanging on, arms wrapped around the god, purposefully aiding the momentum more so with the blasts from his suit. Loki took the brunt of the impact, with the duo spinning slightly as they toppled and crashed to the ground like a meteorite —what with Tony’s blasts like a light trail behind them— the god landing with a loud thud on his back, and Tony lying atop him. 

They both groaned visibly, heads spinning, floor wrecked with unlatched debris. Had Loki been serious, Tony knew, he would already be dead; grabbing so closely a demigod who could literally stab the life out you was an all-in-all bad move, but in a sparing situation… well. An unanticipated move was probably a good one, right?

As Tony groaned low, the sound filtering out mechanically, and wondered briefly how Loki could crash his own skull to concrete, take Tony’s weight and still be alive. Demigods. 

Tony unbuckled his arms from around Loki, pushing himself up with great effort, managing only to remove his upper half from the pull of gravity. Like this, he was straddling Loki in his suit, arms shaky by the sides of Loki’s head. 

The god didn’t look injured at all. His hair was in slightly disarray, his glass-green eyes dazed and blinking, as if refocusing, but he was fine. 

“Gotcha good, didn’t I?” Tony said. 

“Get off me, Tony,” Loki croaked, voice slightly panicky, “get off.”

Tony frowned in his suit, watched the way Loki seemed to be blinking too furiously, chest rising and falling with not pain, but alarm, overwrought with… some kind of emotion Tony couldn’t quite place. 

“Tony,” he was repeating, voice now louder, a underlying tone of fear treading it. Tony tried, immediately trying to get off but the impact had them pretty damned somewhat lodged into the ground, like that one time Tony punched a hole in the wall and got his mechanical arm stuck. To make things worse, Tony’s system was kinda malfunctioning, and with Tony’s own bare human strength, he was sure he couldn’t lift the suit by himself. 

“I-I cannot see,” Loki was saying, blinking harshly and _oh shit oh boy what the fuck—_

“Oh my god. Why—”

“It h-happens,” Loki was saying, breath coming in quicker and oh boy wasn’t this familiar? Back when Loki was cuffed to the table and wouldn’t stop freaking out and Tony didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do? “It happens when I… when I hit my head too hard. It will come b-back.”

He sounded so unsure that Tony was getting increasingly worried. 

“Get off, Tony,” Loki urged, voice so pained and almost thready with panic. “Please, please.”

Oh my god. “Shit, Lokes, I’m sorry, okay okay give me a moment, I’m trying, I’m trying.” He hefted the weight, pushing against the floor, straining with the effort. He heard sounds of Steve shouting “You guys okay?” from a ways off, and glanced up. His screen was equally whacked, blinking and bleeping, static running through. With a frustrated groan, he activated the visor to lift, unveiling his face to air. 

“Yo, kids, a little help here?” He shouted loudly across the distance, beckoning, and Steve and Thor began to make the distance between them from the benches, but arena was huge, and they had literally flown to the very edge of it on the other side. Oh boy oh boy. 

“ _Tony_ ,” Loki gasped, eyes blinking with moisture, his panic growing visibly in the way he was breathing much more quickly, in the way his voice was agitated. 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m here,” Tony said, not really knowing what the hell to do. He only knew how to talk, and so he did. “You hurting anywhere? Any pain?”

“N-no,” Loki said, thready, inhaling and exhaling rapidly, blinking wetness in his eyes, the desperate unseeing look of them, “I don’t— I don’t like to be h-held down,” he stammered, and Tony had never heard Loki, Loki who was ever so eloquent and elegant and refined, stammer. Tony swallowed his own panic that accompanied Loki’s admittance.

“Okay, okay. Look, we’re totally fine, yeah? Steve and Thor are ten seconds away from removing any weight on you, and we’re gonna check on you in the med room, and then we will drink more water yeah? Then we can go watch more TV—”

Tony had never been more relieved to see Steve close up like this, face open and concerned, as he reached them. 

“Steve, lift me up, I can’t move,” Tony groaned, and Steve immediately grabbed him from behind with two powerful arms under his armpits just so, and _pulled_. They landed on another heap on the floor.

Loki promptly sat up then, pushing upwards so quickly that he had to hold his head in his hands to stable himself. Thor was by his side by then. 

“Thor, I— I am _fine_ ,” Loki said, voice soft, breath controlled. Tony turned in surprised to how Loki was gathering himself up with a front as soon as he was in Thor’s presence. He sounded almost normal again, if not for the way he seemed to be trembling. 

Tony’s mouth parted, staring, blinking at the oddity. 

“Brother, are you hurt anywhe—” Thor said, hovering over Loki like a puppy.

“Gods, Thor, I am absolutely _fine_.” Infused with sufficient annoyance to be believable. 

_Well he’ll be damned._

Maybe he was reading too much into it, but that _shift_. In demeanour. A complete one-eighty. Mere seconds ago he was so panicked, so afraid, and the next he was relentlessly wrenching control back, biting his lip so hard Tony could see it bleed. 

“Brother, let me lift you up—”

“No!” Loki gushed instantly, a whiplash response. Tony peered, observant. And there it was again, barely hidden underneath the surface: an immeasurable well of overwhelming panic.

“I… I can stand by myself,” Loki managed quickly, recovering. Steve and Thor did not know better, proceeding to give Loki space while helping Tony to his feet. Tony dislodged himself from the prototype armour, which was partially wrecked, the poor thing, and watched quietly as Loki blinked, refocused, and stood up by himself. The way he seemed to be able to look at his surroundings with intent seemed to suggest his vision was back. 

“That was a good fight, Tony,” Thor was saying, already grinning. “There are few who can overpower my brother so.”

Tony raised a brow, slipping casually into normalcy, “Is that so?” The words bothered Tony a lot more than he let on.

Steve slapped his back. “That was a good job, Tony. It was very inspiring to watch.” 

“Indeed,” Loki said, mutedly, looking at the floor, not meeting anyone’s gaze. 

As they made their way out of the gym, Loki walking by Tony’s side, Tony realised he seemed to be the only one of the three to notice that Loki was still shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first full presentday!chapter! Sorry for the absence, I've been holidaying and the wifi overseas is, unfortunately, pretty bad. Also, a belated merry christmas to all. From now on, I'll be including 'next chapter previews' in my end notes, which is very exciting for me! :) Enjoy!
> 
> Next chapter's preview: 
> 
>  
> 
> _“What did you not mean?” Thor snapped, walking forward, trapping Loki with arms against the wall. Loki curled into the surface, eyes clenched shut against him. “Say it!”_
> 
>  
> 
>  _“I did not mean to a-anger y-you,” Loki stuttered out. “T-Thor please back away.”_
> 
> Comments are absolute love!
> 
> *provides everyone hot choco and warm blankets*


	6. Chapter 6

“Father does not love you! _You_ , brother, are merely an _ergi_ Fandral would not hesitate to fuck!” Thor screamed into his brother’s face, and as soon as the words left his mouth, he already regretted them. Loki’s face fell, the pallor of his skin turning pale, faded. At least, the words had fulfilled its intentions to shut Loki up. 

Thor was a fiery teenager, a hotheaded brute. He knew that. But sometimes Loki would never shut up. He would say things, give _adult_ advice, disagreeing to Thor’s every move, every action. Whenever Thor suggested something fun, it would be met with his brother’s disapproval. It was infuriating, and more so frustrating when Thor went ahead and did it, and it turned out exactly like the way Loki predicted. 

It set his nerves aflame. He _loathed_ it. 

Loki stumbled backwards, the verbal blow hitting, his back hitting the wall. His lips parted, then closed again, speechless. Thor watched with guilt as hurt slowly spread across those features. 

He wanted to take it back. His brother never ever meant harm with his advice. If anything, Thor would probably be better off following them. But Thor’s pride puffed like a cloud, and taking the words back once said was cowardice. 

“You are w-wrong… The A-Allfather loves…” Loki started, voice trembling, eyes blinking wetness. Thor also hated this part of Loki; the way he… Those long lashes, that fair nape. Those emerald eyes, wide and doe-like. Milk skin and long-limbed, more graceful and beautiful than any maiden Thor had ever set eyes upon. The unwitting, knowing way Loki was just so. How often had Thor’s very own friends coveted his brother’s body, making cruel jokes to him about how Loki would perhaps even moan like a woman, how flexible and pretty his body could be, spread beneath them?

 _Why_ was his brother born this way? Where was the warrior, the solider, the fighter? Why, oh why, was Loki so delicate, so fair-skinned, so beautiful in the way his lips parted, his fingers nimble like silk? While Thor was sun-kissed and rippling with his stature, frame bounded tight with muscles growing more so still, while Loki was intricate and subdued, ethereal in moonlight?

“The magic arts are all you know, Loki,” Thor said, harsh. If he were any younger, any less tempered with hot adolescent spirit, rash as it was, Thor would probably have stepped forth to apologise and embrace his brother. Alas, this was not the case. “Take away your magics and you are helpless.”

Loki flinched against the words, eyes lowering. The very act infuriating Thor even more. _This_! This was the very thing that Thor countlessly told Loki to stop, and every single time—

“Thor, I am sorry, I d-did not mean…” Loki managed, fingers intertwining and pressing forcefully against one another, an old habit he never managed to shake off.

“What did you not mean?” Thor snapped, walking forward, trapping Loki with arms against the wall. Loki curled into the surface, eyes clenched shut against him. “Say it!”

“I did not mean to a-anger y-you,” Loki stuttered out. “T-Thor please back away.”

“You obviously did, Loki!” Thor shouted into Loki’s face, fury a hot coal in his heart burning. “You did!” Loki was turning his face into the wall now, his whole body attempting to shrink and crumple away, to blend into the surface of the walls. Thor’s veins burnt that Loki still was so _weak_. Pathetic, even. 

“Thor, _please_ back away,” Loki said, voice thready with panic, and Thor had had enough of Loki’s nonsense. With a single arm, he reached to grasp Loki’s jaw roughly to face Thor like a man—

A whoosh. A blur. All the air of Thor’s lungs were knocked out of him. Coughing, his lungs _burning_. Thor tried to make a sound but with no breath he could not. His head spinning, vision blurred, a shadow of a figure in front of him, a sharp nicking sting at his neck. 

As his vision slowly clearly, in what felt like years instead of mere seconds, Loki was already straddling him, pressing with an sharp digging elbow to his chest, underneath his ribs, a razor-edged blade pressed to his nape, nicking blood. A crazed, manic look in that once-innocent gaze, Loki’s chest heaving madly, hyperventilating, almost. Hands shaking, gaze focused on the blood flowing from the shallow wound on Thor’s neck. 

“Lo—” Thor gasped hoarsely, trying to speak, but no air was forthcoming, which meant no voice. 

Loki just breathed heavily atop him, eyes wild like that of an animal’s, his whole concentration on the blade incrementally pushing deeper into Thor’s neck, right against his artery. 

Thor was afraid. 

“Brot—”

“It is true, then,” Loki said, whispery, eyes never meeting Thor’s. He moved his head, cocking it just so, eyes still intent on Thor’s blood seeping out of his body. “ _Ergi_ … Even you. Everyone else and you.”

Thor wanted to swallow what saliva was nervously accumulating in his mouth, but he was afraid if he did, the blade would push ever deeper into his throat, reaching the artery. 

“Brother,” he choked, eyes wide now, afraid with what insanity that was passing in Loki’s eyes. And then suddenly, a flinch of recognition, Loki seemingly registering his surroundings, the fact he was pressing a blade dangerously close to Thor’s throat. 

“Oh Gods,” he whispered, eyes wide with panic, standing and scrambling away, throwing the blade to the side, it landing with a clatter. “Oh Gods… what have I done?”

Thor sat up slowly and swallowed, then coughed harshly, gathering his breath. He attempted to stand, faltered slightly, but then eventually rose to his feet. He glanced to Loki in the corner, huddled and muttering something, before stumbling his way to the adjacent baths to check upon his wound. 

The mirror reflected back a Thor he would not have liked. Pale, eyes not too far off of terrified, throat with a nasty long cut, though fortunately, not yet too deep. He would heal. Thor grabbed a cloth and wrapped it up haphazardly, brutishly, before making his way out of the bath, mind blank. 

Loki’s head whipped up, eyes wide. “Brother, brother I’m so sorry.”

Thor looked to Loki; he looked absolutely wrecked, tears gathered in the dips of his eyes, regret clear in the panic of his gaze. Thor knew his brother did not mean harm. Had been coerced so that…

Thor shook his head slowly, walked up to Loki and crouched down low where he was slumped. “It is I who should apologise, Loki. I am sorry I forced your hand.”

Loki glanced up, frowning. “You are not mad?”

Thor shook his head once again. “And you? Are you?”

Loki paused, stilling. “I… I almost killed you. The one person I could never—” His voice became much too tight to continue. He exhaled to calm his breath. “Thor, I could never be mad at you.”

Thor slumped by Loki’s side, breathing deep. “Are you sure?”

Loki laughed breathlessly, from shock or pure mania Thor did not know. “You? No. Your stupidity? Always.”

Thor chuckled, exhausted. “Even I know I should listen to you more, Loki. I merely do not admit it.”

Loki huffed a breath. “Good to know.”

They sat in silence, in the silent aftermath of what seemed to be the worst fight they had ever had. 

“Brother…?” Thor began.

“Hmm?” 

“What exactly was that just now?”

Thor watched Loki glance downwards, slight panic invading that gaze. “I do not know. Adrenaline rush, maybe? You know I am not that strong, Thor.”

Thor eyed his brother. “Truly?”

“Yes. Why would I lie?” Loki said, meeting his gaze. And Thor saw no recognisable deceit. But then again, Loki was the best liar Thor knew. 

Thor gazed some more into that gaze, then decided the scrutiny was not worth the effort. He would believe what his brother said. 

“Alright.”

==================================================================================

So, on day two of meeting the Asgardian brothers, Tony decided that the probability of Loki having _issues_ were rather high. No, seriously. 

He thought back to the tremor that lingered in those nimble hands, the repressed quiver in lithe frame, barely skimming the surface. 

He wasn’t being judgemental or anything, most people, if not all, had their own problems to deal with. Everyone was pretty intricate and complex as human beings, Tony knew. But Loki…

There was just _something_ about the guy. Layers upon layers, and till date, Tony had only managed to scrape the surface. What glimpses he saw of Loki were only that: brief, momentary lapses. There were more, a lot more underneath that cover. 

So. Right, evaluating what he knew so far. Firstly, fears. This one was iffy, if it was there at all. Cuffs, interrogation (?) or the idea of any of these, were one. Then there was, well, that sparring session. Being held down. So, any form of being trapped? Was that it? 

Tony sighed into his chair, slumping. Everything was so vague. Hey, maybe it was about something else entirely that Tony had not managed to catch. 

And then there were the personas. The formal, sleek, socialite one made the appearance the most often with Tony whenever he delved too deep. That one Tony could identify easily; he related to that well enough, having his own casual persona somewhat vibrating with the same frequency. Then there was the somewhat shy and awkward one, the one with those intermingling fingers, subconscious with the habit. The one that was inherently curious, innately questioning about Tony’s lab tech, the one that had stopped them mid fight. The one with the smile that reached those grass-green eyes. That one, the one Tony loved most. 

But then there was also the one, the one that had appeared during the fight. Maybe it was Loki just being serious, having his fight game on, and that would have been what it looked like from faraway. But up close, Loki emanated a very different feeling, almost like a chill a trained killer would emit and Tony had an uncanny, uncomfortable vibe of well…

Romanoff.

He sighed, rolled his eyes. _Especially_ when the Russian spy was fighting. That equally cool, steel gaze, the unyielding hands, that swift blade. 

Tony sighed, flopped back on his roller chair. 

Curse his curiosity. 

===========================================================

“Loki, come on,” Thor urged, beckoning, watching his younger brother shuffle, discomfort in his features. 

“Thor, this is not a good idea,” Loki said, voice muffled by the noise of the crowd, of people’s sounds in the crowded streets of Asgard. Lamps blinking in the cold winds, stalls lining the side, boisterous, children running around, playing. Loki dodged a small funning figure of a young boy, chasing after other children. He grimaced. 

“The Allfather will learn of this sooner or later,” Loki continued, “we’d best leave now and go back to the palace.” 

Thor huffed. “And Father is also wise enough to acknowledge that we are growing boys.”

They arrived at the entrance of the brothel and stared, Thor watching Loki swallow nervously. Hel, Thor himself was nervous too. He was the right age now, curious and brave enough to dare try visiting a place such as this. He inhaled a breath, picturing beauties with soft, puckered lips and rounded breasts, curved bottoms and silky smiles. 

He glanced upwards to the establishment, of girls in silk dresses standing along the railings a storey above, waving them in playfully. Behind him, he heard Loki inhale sharply. Thor smirked with the knowledge that his brother seemed equally inexperienced as he was. But today, things would change. They would no longer be boys, but men. His heart pounded harder, thrilled with the thought of it. 

“Come on,” Thor said without glancing back at what Thor was sure was probably Loki’s awestruck expression. His brother barely even saw the sun, let alone full naked developed bodies of women. 

Without hesitation Thor stepped across the threshold, hearing behind him uncertain footsteps treading slowly. Inside, colourful cloths were draped from the ceiling, intricate ornaments littering the grand hall. Women stepped forward to greet them. There were many with delicate beads and pearls in their hair, jewelry like chains decorating the skin round their necks and wrists. They adorned silk that slipped enticingly against skin, unveiling the dips of their rounded breasts and curves. Dark, dark eyes, lidded, and inviting smiles. 

Thor turned behind, grinning from ear to ear, catching Loki’s discomfort spreading visibly on his face. And even so, an odd thought struck: his brother would blend in perfectly here. What with that shy flush of his face, long, sensual lashes and soft-looking lips, parted. Clear emerald gaze, catching. 

Thor shook his head in annoyance at the thought, of the abrupt image of Loki adorning silk sliding downwards, dipping timidly his head, so that the length of his dark midnight lashes would juxtapose against the fairness of his skin just so. 

No. 

“Thor?” That voice velvety, the fantasy lingering, churning an uneasiness in Thor’s gut. 

“Loki,” Thor said, steadying himself, looking directly into that discomforted gaze. “Today we become men, you hear? Today no longer will we be boys.”

Thor watched his brother swallow nervously. “You mean…”

“Exactly,” Thor demanded, tone determined enough so Loki would not argue otherwise. 

“Thor, the Allfather will be furious,” Loki said, eyes glancing around as if afraid someone might catch them here. “He will not approve.”

“And are we our father’s lapdogs now? Look around you, brother,” Thor said, grin returning, “we are in _paradise_.”

Loki huffed. “And already at the palace maidens fall willingly at your feet. You may choose any you like, Thor, and I expect she will fall madly in love with you. Enough for you to charm her to your bed.”

Thor smiled dashingly, pride swelling in his chest. He _was_ quite the lady killer, what with his boyish looks, tales of his might spreading far and wide into the lands. But still…

“It will be different with an experienced woman, I bet,” Thor said, eyes twinkling. Loki only grimaced further. “Loki, I do not need a disappointing first. Trust me when I tell you it will be worth coming here.”

Loki opened his mouth to argue, but a woman interrupted politely. 

“Princes!” she gasped, smiling, her face coated with bright and odd paints, large off-white pearls hanging around her plentiful nape. Her hair was tied up neatly in a bun, put together with a large golden butterfly hairpin. She clasped her hands together, lips smacking. Thor beamed at her greeting, recognising her easily.

“Madame,” Thor greeted, bowing slightly, Loki beside him doing the same. “It is our honour.”

“Oh my, what dashing men you both have become, indeed,” she exclaimed, eyes adoring. “Welcome, welcome to my bawdy house. Only the best for our land’s most groomed princes, of course!”

Thor smirked devilishly, winking. “We were certainly hoping so, Madame.”

“Oh my!” she remarked, fanning herself with the broad wad of parchment she held in a hand as she walked, “Come on now, follow me, please. Allow this bawdy house to display our _best_ girls, for our _best_ princes.”

Thor guffawed behind her, steps following. Loki reluctantly did the same, falling into pace beside Thor. The Madame’s larger, fuller figure in front led them easily up sturdy wooden steps, turning and twisting through complex narrow hallways until they stopped in front of a brightly painted door. 

“Here we go,” the Madame smiled, full lips smacking once more. She unlatched the door handle, stepping aside to allow them in. 

Inside, four different beauties sat. All were equally charming and elegant, silk robes parted alluringly. The room opened up further to another room, a large bed placed there. There were wine goblets and wine present in bountiful amounts, encouraging. 

Thor gaped internally, even as he assumed immediately his suave self. He slipped a glance at his brother, who seemed to have paled significantly. Nerves, no doubt. 

“Enjoy yourselves, my princes. If you have need for anything at all, feel free to call upon me,” the Madame said, bowing, to which Thor nodded distractedly to. And then with a click of the door, Thor and Loki were alone with the beauties. 

Thor stepped with false bravado into the room and sat himself onto the couch, arms comfortably assuming their position around the shoulders of two nearest girls. They giggled, smiling like sleek feline creatures, watching him underneath lidded gazes. Thor was equal parts nervous and excited. 

“You are so handsome, my prince,” the girl with blonde hair a few shade lighter than Thor’s own locks said, voice sultry with the compliment. She began leaning her head onto his shoulder, and that felt very nice indeed. 

Loki shuffled his feet over, seating himself awkwardly someplace on the opposite couch where none of the girls sat. He looked absolutely terrified. Two of the girls immediately swarmed to his brother, sitting by his sides easily, then reaching towards the table in the middle to pour wine. Thor almost laughed at the way Loki’s frame stilled completely, so nervous and shy his brother was, the way he drew back from the touchy fingers of the girls. 

They talked for a time, and the blonde-haired maiden to his left caught his attention more, the way she parted her lips, the way her garment seemed to slip down her shoulders casually. There was not much more talk before he held her jaw still and proceeded to kiss sensually those inviting lips. Levta—he had learnt her name briefly during his small chat— moaned freely, encouraging even as he pushed her down, crawling atop her, sliding their hot skin together. Atia, the black-haired beauty that had been to his right, pressed her generous front against his back, almost massaging, making his skin grow hotter still with what shape it pressed against him, teasing. 

For a brief moment Thor side eyed Loki, curious about his brother’s progress, but he only caught light conversation and Loki sipping on wine, still remaining a polite distance away from any of the maidens. Gods, how could Loki resist for so long the temptation dangling right in front of him, ready to be taken? 

Thor’s hands roamed Levta’s chest, slipping easily underneath her garments, groping. Gods, they were so soft, so full. Thor indulged in the sharp moans she let out at his aggressiveness. From behind him, Atia was speaking filthy, filthy words, working Thor up in a way he had never been before. 

When Thor parted from the kiss for air, he stood up, pulling Letva and Atia with him, and nodding to the bed. They giggled, hands playfully touching and roaming still, and Thor remembered for a moment to check on Loki. 

“On its head it wore horns many men tall, and its howl burned through the night. Thor and I did not sleep for days, waiting in darkness to strike,” Loki was saying, sipping on more wine between sentences. Thor blinked at the way the two girls by his sides actually seemed entranced and intrigued by the tale. The trio held no skin-to-skin contact. 

“And the beast did not hear you?” The curly-haired maiden to Loki’s right asked, leaning forward absent-mindedly, eyes wide with the grip of the story, her extensive locks of hair falling beautifully down her chest. 

“No,” Loki said, he looked grim with the telling. “If it had Thor and I would no longer be hale and whole.”

“Loki,” Thor interrupted breathlessly. Loki glanced up from the opposite couch, as did the girls on both of his sides, “I will be retiring to the beds.” He grinned winningly, winking suggestively in a way that elicited laughter from all four of the maidens. “Maybe very soon you will join us on the bed too, eh? It is large enough for all of us, I am sure.”

Loki licked his lips nervously. “Perhaps.” Then he welled up a small smile. “Off with you now. Time to become a man, did you say?’

Thor barked laughter, the pressure in his lower garments becoming increasingly uncomfortable as conversation lingered on. He grabbed both girls, then headed to the bed. 

~~~

Loki watched as Thor moved to the bed with the girls in arms. His heart was burning, pounding frantically with panic. He would hear. It was obvious he would hear the sounds of mouths pressed together, suckling urgently, hands roaming, fervent moans echoing. Loki yearned to curl himself into a ball and clasped his ears shut. To block away what he knew would soon be the sounds of skin slapping against skin, of guttural groans and long, thready moans. 

“My prince?” Vunn, the curly-haired lady on his right asked, mouth pinched tight with what Loki interpreted as worry, “Are you alright?”

Loki mustered up a smile. “Yes, do not worry.”

“Do not be nervous, prince,” Naf said from Loki’s left. “You may proceed at your own pace. No need to feel pressured by your brother.” She smiled gently, fingers briefly touching his, and Loki loathed that even that sight touch was already putting him on edge, was already bringing up in his mind countless times of others’ skin sliding against his own. 

He also loathed how so very… well, _nice_ , these maidens were. From the beginning they were respectful of his space, listened to him, paid attention to his words that most would avoid. Honestly, it would have been perfectly pleasant and enjoyable conversation if not for the sexual undertones of their circumstance. These girls were likely expecting Loki to… touch… them in the near future. An idea Loki was certain would never come to fruition. 

“We can go slow, my prince. We can do whatever you like, however you like it,” Vunn continued, smiling sweetly, eyes so soft and gentle. Loki blinked at the words, heart falling. “No stress. Entirely your pace. If you want to stop, we will stop. If you want to explore different things, we may.” 

Loki blinked at the slight moisture gathering in his vision. Was _this_ how his first was supposed to have gone? Gentleness and patience and understanding and softness and kindness? No brute hands, no violence, no screams and tears and agonising pain. Just two soft, kind maidens, willing to press skin against his own and let him derive pleasure and experience. Loki shocked himself with what sadness that plagued him at what he could have, now lost forever to void and suffering and grief. How it hurt him so, wondering now about possibilities, about what-could-have-beens. 

“Thank you,” Loki said, suppressing with what will he had the ball of emotion lodged tight in his throat. “You both are kind and wonderful maidens, and I am truly grateful to have met the both of you.”

They smiled, eyes warm, looking genuinely touched. Loki did not know if this was merely within the scope of their roles, but he liked to think they appreciated his words.

“And you, my prince, are a gentle, gentle creature,” Naf said, smiling, slowly reaching her hand over his, then intertwining their fingers. Loki ducked his head in embarrassment, ignored the pounding of his heart. 

“Could I… kiss you, Naf?” Loki asked hesitant, “Just… gently. Not… sexually.”

Naf smiled, lifted her other hand to brush Loki’s long coal locks from his face. “Of course. I would love to.”

Loki swallowed, nervous, marvelling at those very nerves, given the fact that he was no stranger to this act. But… like this, in the setting of low light and with such kind, understanding maidens, it seemed different. Intimate in a way that Loki had never felt before. 

Loki leaned sideways, facing Naf, watching those lips, soft-looking and parted, and gazed into those dark, beautiful eyes. And then their faces were close, breaths mingling. Loki hesitantly raised a hand to touch Naf’s jaw, cupping it slowly. She smiled, leaning into it, using her hand that had previously brushed his hair away to press over Loki’s hand cradling her jaw. And still their other hand remained intertwined, Loki squeezing tightly like a lifeline. 

“You’re beautiful, Naf,” Loki whispered, meaning it, gazing into warm and kind eyes. “I am almost too afraid to kiss you.”

“Almost?” she teased, smiling. Her hand holding his squeezed back. 

“Yes,” Loki said, then leaned forwards ever so slowly, pressing lip against lip. They moved slowly, gently, eyes closing and shifting their heads to better the angle, such that their noses would not collide. Loki felt warm with it, pushed back desperately dark lightning flashes threatening to appear in his mind’s eye, begging for this one experience; untainted. 

Then he was pulling back, and both their eyes opened at the same time. 

“That was exceptionally sweet, Loki,” Naf said, and a tender fire lit in his heart. He smiled, warm for the first time in a long time. 

 

Perhaps ugly, broken and needy beasts could still press gently lips to another without hurting, without falling apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! :) Next chapter will be up very soon!
> 
> Preview:
> 
> _He slammed the door open, running his body through, vision blurry, body heaving._
> 
> _Loki. His gaze wild, eyes flint cold, an intense otherworldly glass-green. Barton, a curled ball on the ground, grasping at his throat, wheezing. Bruce in the corner talking in soothing tones, hands up in the air, palms showing. Romanoff with a serious gaze, crouching by Barton’s side, hands reaching behind her for her blade._
> 
> _“Woah woah woah okay what the hell is going on?” Tony rasped, blinking, wheezing still from his sprint._


End file.
